


Summer King

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Celtic AU, Celtic wheel of the year, Jon loses control, M/M, Normal seasons here, Revenge, Sacrifice, Some very dubcon coming up (ye be warned), Summer King myth, personality change, split personality, the king is evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-02-10 23:40:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 29,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12922695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: The drumming stops in the same moment as his heart. He can feel their eyes on him. Father's face betrays nothing. The maester steps forward, brow furrowed in... grief? Concentration? In his hands the scroll that seals Jon's fate. It's his seventeenth summer and it'll be his last. He's been voted Summer King of Winterfell. The boy Jon Snow is dead. Only the Summer King remains.And no one can refuse the Summer King, for he makes the greatest sacrifice for them all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not familiar with the summer king myth: On Beltane (April 30) the summer king gets voted by fate. He's indulged and every wish of his is fulfilled, he can have anything he wants and he cannot be refused - until Mabon (September 21) when he is sacrificed.  
> It's still unclear if this ever really happened, of course there are sources that say yes, some say no, and we know good old Caesar wasn't the most reliable when it came to the Celts. I still like the myth :)

The drumming stops in the same moment as his heart. He can feel their eyes on him. Father's face betrays nothing. The maester steps forward, brow furrowed in... grief? Concentration? In his hands the scroll that seals Jon's fate. It's his seventeenth summer and it'll be his last. He's been voted Summer King of Winterfell. The boy Jon Snow is dead. Only the Summer King remains.

He can nearly hear his blood rushing through his veins. There are shouts now, cheers. A cry, somewhere. He drops to his knees. A wreath of ivy is gently placed on his head.

"Rise," the maester says.

His voice sounds resigned. Jon gets up in a fluent motion. On a sign of the maester, two men step up and start to remove Jon's clothes. Once he's fully undressed a gasp runs through the crowd. Jon doesn't care. He's dead.

After what feels like an eternity he's wrapped in a long, thick cloak. His feet remain bare. The maester steps aside and Jon makes his way to the throne, crafted from wicker branches. He looks down on it. He'd rather die standing up. But that isn't something he can think about now. They're waiting. He turns around to face the crowd. The maester's voice rings out.

"Hail the Summer King!"

Cheers erupt, shrill cries that have Jon's skin crawl. They're cheering for his death... Jon sits down, his mind reeling, his vision blurring.

The celebrations continue. Jon watches. Slowly he starts to make out their faces again. Father, wearing a mask of stone. Sansa, shocked. Arya and Bran are gone, probably dragged away when his name was drawn. He lets his gaze wander across the mass of people, until he finds him. Robb's eyes are wide in terror. Jon raises a corner of his mouth. No need to be so shocked. The lot could've fallen on him. It still could, next year, or the year after that. Three more years until Robb will be safe.

They learn it early, in the North. The possibility of being chosen is always hanging over their heads. From their fifteenth to their twentieth summer no boy is safe. Not even the heir of Winterfell. Though it IS seldom that a highborn is chosen. They're far and few in between after all, there's so many more commoners. When a highborn gets chosen, it's a huge uproar. Jon remembers, some years back the heir of Roose Bolton was made Summer King. Bolton didn't utter a word for his son, just like Father won't.

He keeps searching the crowd, looking for _her_ now. This must feel like a gift to her. A gift of the gods she doesn't follow. When he finds her, Lady Stark's eyes are sparkling with glee. Jon feels hot rage burn through him. But he smiles at her, a wide smile. It makes her uncomfortable, he can see it. After all, what cause does he have to smile? Tomorrow, Jon thinks. Tomorrow, mylady, I shall make you even more uncomfortable.

He's the Summer King. Four months and three weeks. During which he can do what he feels like, take whatever - whomever - he wants. No one can refuse the Summer King, for he makes the greatest sacrifice for them all.

A shuffle through the crowd draws his attention. Greyjoy, making his way to Robb. He must be relieved, although he doesn't look like it. He looks... Jon doesn't know how to describe it. Not like himself. He _should_ be relieved. It's his twentieth summer, his last time to take part. Next year he'll be safe. Should he even partake? Jon wonders. He's not of the North. But every year he dutifully did. Was it Father, had he forced him? Greyjoy has reached Robb, he grabs his shoulder and hisses something in his ear. He seems to be shaking with tension. With a last look up at Jon, Robb lets Greyjoy drag him away.

Jon leans back. He hasn't eaten all day, but now he's not feeling hungry. The gluttony can wait until tomorrow. It doesn't matter anyways. The first wench shyly makes her way over to the throne. Jon thinks back to last year's Summer King, a man from Wintertown. By this time he already had three girls in his lap. Maybe, Jon thinks, maybe they're more timid with him because he's Ned Stark's bastard. He waves her away.

The wench pouts, but moves back. It's a great honour, and a blessing, to lay with the Summer King. He'll have to fend off a lot more. But it's the night of Beltane. There might be a child. Even though bastards fathered by the Summer King aren't looked down upon like others, like himself... Jon does not want to father a child he'll never be able to hold. He laughs at that thought, a short, harsh bark. It's irrelevant now, all of this. He's dead.

After a couple of hours he can't sit anymore. The only cushion between him and the slender wicker branches is his cloak. He gets up. The maester seems like he wants to stop him, but Father shakes his head at him. They let him go, of course they do. Father knows he wouldn't flee. Jon would never dishonour them. The North needs him, needs the Summer King to make the sacrifice. Besides... Jon wouldn't know where to go.

He wanders around aimlessly, trying to ignore the stares and whispers.

 

"Ned Stark's own blood. The gods will be pleased."

"Poor boy. He's so young."

"We've had younger ones. He's a pretty lad though."

"Aye. I'd love to have his child. Oh look, he's blushing."

 

Jon flees, their laughter still in his ears. The courtyard is deserted and he slumps down on a bale of straw. From outside he can hear the drums again. The fire will be restoked until it's time to burn the Winter King. It's not fair, Jon thinks. The Winter King is a straw dummy. He buries his face in his hands. The straw dummy didn't have his whole life still before him. The straw dummy can't feel the flames licking at him. It isn't fair, it isn't fair, it isn't fair -

A noise somewhere has him look up. He hears it again, a strangled cry. Coming from the stables. He slowly gets to his feet and walks over. Probably Greyjoy with a whore. Or a kitchen maid. It's like a slap in the face. Jon is preparing for his death while Greyjoy takes a jolly tumble in the hay. He could tell him to stop, Jon thinks. He can do anything now.

He wraps his cloak tighter around himself, mindful not to get stuck or make a noise. When he comes closer the noise sounds more like someone crying. Robb? Jon's heart aches at the thought. Of course his brother would cry for him. He peers around the corner, but what he sees -

Robb is there alright, but he's not the one sobbing uncontrollably. Greyjoy is curled into a tight ball in Robb's lap, fists clenched in Robb's doublet. Robb is stroking his back, making soothing noises.

"Ssshh... It's going to be alright... Calm down, Theon... that's not going to help... I know... Sssshhh..."

His own voice sounds choked as well.

Jon backs away in confusion. What? Greyjoy's behaving like he's the one going to burn.

Shortly before sunrise Jon is lead to his new chambers by his father and the maester. The maester bows and excuses himself. Father lingers. The stony mask has slipped, Lord Stark has vanished.

"I'm sorry, Jon."

Jon doesn't move, lets Father hug him.

"Good night, son. My king."

The last word is heavy with sadness. He leaves Jon alone.

 

Jon surveys his new chamber. It's vastly different from his old one, opulent even. The bed is huge, with layer upon layer of thick furs covering it. Jon tosses his heavy cloak aside. Naked he crawls into bed. He doesn't sleep.

The next day he feels unable to get up. He hasn't been drinking at all yesterday, but he feels like it. He doesn't have to get up. A little squire is stationed outside his door and every wish Jon can utter is fulfilled immediately. His fire is stoked, food and drink are brought to him, even his chamber pot. Most of the time Jon stares into nothing.

That night Robb comes to see him. He sits down on the bed wordlessly and draws Jon into his arms. That's when he cries, mourning the life he could've had, the future that's been taken from him. Robb just holds him silently through it. After a while Jon feels empty, hollowed. He shouldn't drag this out any longer, so he sighs and straightens.

"Thank you. For coming. For letting me be myself for one more moment." 

His face hardens. It's over. Robb should go, his brother is dead. He can feel it inside himself. The part of him that is Jon, smaller already, clinging on to him. He can't afford to be Jon, to be soft. He has to kill the boy to survive. Survive... the irony is wonderful, and the Summer King laughs about it. Jon could never take it, those months. Being prepared and indulged, pampered and worshipped, groomed for his death.

The Summer King's smile feels cold on his lips, leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He'll get used to it.

"Leave now. Let them know I will talk to them on the morrow."

Robb understands. His eyes are dark with loss when he bows.

"Yes, my king."


	2. Chapter 2

The family is waiting when the king enters the hall. Nearly everbody is. They want to see him, see what he'll do. He's silent as he walks to his throne. It's the same as on Beltane, only covered in fur now. Come Mabon it'll be his pyre. The king growls. He will not sit. He will die upright. Now he settles into the chair. All eyes are on him again, they're breathlessly waiting for him to speak. Jon would hate it. The king smiles.

Lady Stark isn't looking at him. She's looking down at her hands folded in her lap. But he can still see the smile she's trying to hide. Jon could never defend himself against her cruelty and coldness. But the Summer King can punish her. He opens his mouth.

"Sansa."

The effect is immediate, and gratifying. Father - Lord Stark's expression is pained. Lady Catelyn glares at him openly now.

Sansa gets up, good little girl that she is. She's trembling.

"Yes, my king?"

He leans forward, takes her chin into his hand. Her eyes are wide in bewilderment.

"Go and wait in my chamber."  

She curtsies and leaves. Obedient. The king raises his gaze at Lady Stark. Her husband's arms are around her, not comforting, restraining. She's shaking with fury. The king can hear the lord whispering to her.

"We can't refuse him, Cat. You know that."

The king smiles.

 

After a long, uncomfortable silence the hall bustles to life again. They act normal, like there wasn't a doomed man sitting among them.  The king hates them all. Hates the servants bringing him mead and meat, hates the girls giving him flirty glances, hates the joviality of them all. The only thing holding him back from lashing out is Lady Stark. Every glare she sends in his direction heightens his amusement.

Finally he decides it's time to put her out of her misery. He rises, makes his way through the crowd. They're parting willingly enough for him.

Good little Sansa is waiting for him, sitting on a stool near the fire. She's wringing her hands in her lap, her eyes are red and swollen. Jon would try to comfort her, tell her there's nothing to fear. The king doesn't. It would be a lie. He knows his voice is cold when he speaks.

"Help me undress."

She hiccups, but doesn't hesitate, performing the task quick and efficient. She averts her eyes, cheeks flushed, and the king is sick of her shivering obedience.

"Get lost."

She looks into his eyes then, and maybe there's a trace of Jon looking back, because she smiles sadly before leaving him alone.

 

The king retires to bed, way too early. But he can't stand to be around them. He sighs. Tomorrow he won't go soft on Sansa. Tomorrow he'll drag it out, down in the hall, in front of her lady mother, all of them. Jon has never seen Sansa like that, only as a sister. They've never even been close. The king doesn't see her like that either. She's a tool to torment her mother. And maybe... maybe it feels good to get back at Jon's sister for her obvious contempt of his being a bastard.

It's only early afternoon. If things were different, if Jon were different, he'd have fucked three girls by now. As it is... Jon never wanted that. The king doesn't want it.

A knock on the door startles him.

"Enter."

The last person he expected lets himself in. Jon would've hidden his nakedness beneath the furs, would've tried to make himself as small as possible to avoid the unevitable blow. The king gets out of bed, shoulders straight. It doesn't matter anymore. Greyjoy nods, his face frozen.

"Snow."

The king smiles.

"Call me that again and I'll have you whipped in the courtyard."

Greyjoy visibly recoils, looking shaken.

"I..." He swallows. "I beg your pardon, my... king."

It sounds like the words are hurting him.

"Kneel," the king says.

Greyjoy stares at him.

"What?"

The king takes a step, his hand closes around Greyjoy's throat, squeezing. Greyjoy opens his mouth, gasps. His hands come up to the king's arm. His eyes... The king lets go and Greyjoy drops to the floor, coughing.

"Better," the king says, sitting back on the bed. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to ask you to leave Sansa alone. Robb is upset."

He doesn't look at the king. The king snorts.

"And that is my problem because...?"

Greyjoy looks up in disbelief.

"He's your brother!"

The king sighs.

"He's Jon's brother. Jon is dead."

Greyjoy makes a noise, a stifled, broken sound. The king looks at him, mildly curious.

"Wouldn't have thought this would upset you. Now, listen. I'm not going to explain this again, to anyone. Do you think Robb will fare better when he loses Jon in the end? Yes, I'm sure it'll do him a world of good to watch his beloved brother burn, to hear him screaming for mercy, screaming his name, pleading for help. They never go silently, Greyjoy. I won't be the exception. Maybe I'll even scream _your_ name. Would you like that? Would you like watching me burn, watch the flesh fall from my blackened bones while I curse you all for doing this to me?"

"STOP!!!!"

Greyjoy is shaking, his hands covering his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! Please stop."

It's strange, hearing words like that from Greyjoy, and the king feels himself relenting.

"You get where I'm coming from, yes? Better he learns to hate me now."

Greyjoy takes a while to answer. He removes his hands from his face. His cheeks are streaked with tears.

"I do. I'm sorry this is happening to you, Sn- my king."

The king lets it slide. He nods.

"You can go."

Greyjoy elegantly rises to his feet. At the door he hesitates. "You should know one thing, my king. Robb is determined to come here. He wants to ask you to take his sister's place."

 

The king stares at the door long after it has fallen shut. Robb wants to take his sister's place? The thoughts come unbidden, the images flooding his mind. What he never wanted, never wants to do to Sansa - it's too easy to imagine Robb in her stead. And oh, how sweet it would be! Lady Catelyn's face appears before his eyes, the utter devastation on it when he sullies her son, her firstborn, precious son, again and again in front of the whole of Winterfell...

And wouldn't it be good, the bastard getting one over the heir, the perfect lordling, so sweet and good and honourable...

_NO!_

It's a shout from deep inside him. No.

 

It's late when the dreaded knock comes. The king is sitting by the fire, wearing his cloak like armour.

"Come in."

Robb closes the door behind him. He turns, lets himself fall down immediately. He crawls over on his knees, the whole length of the room. The king watches silently. There's a part of him that enjoys seeing Robb humiliating himself. Jon would cry. Robb looks up into the king's face once he's reached him, hands raised in a gesture of praying. Ever the perfect supplicant, the king thinks with a hint of venom. Robb's eyes are soft and pleading.

"My king. May I speak?"

Jon would laugh, smack him over the head and tell him he's already speaking. The king nods.

"My sister... whatever you did to her, whatever you want from her..."

The normally bright blue eyes are glazed over, he'll start crying any second now. The king wants him to. It's not fair.

"I beg you, my king. Let me serve you in her stead."

Jon would wipe his tears away. The king's hand twitches. He raises an eyebrow.

"You want to be your king's cocksucker?"

Robb stifles a sob. He must think this is what the king has wanted from his sister.

"Yes. Anything, please. Please, please, don't touch her again, I beg you!"

He's pleading so sweetly, looks so beautiful, it goes to the king's cock with surprising ferocity. Robb notices too, he leans forward. Before he can stop himself, the king has reached out, placed a hand against Robb's shoulder, stopping him.

"No."

Robb seems to crumble at the denial.

"Why her, Jon? Why?"

And it's Jon who answers him, his voice soothing.

"I didn't do anything, Robb. I would never take any girl against her will, least of all our sister."

 

The king clenches his teeth. The moment of weakness has passed.

"This is entirely for your mother's benefit."

Something like a smile ghosts over Robb's face.

"I guess I can't begrudge you that. But Sansa-"

"Enough," the king growls. "She'll learn to treat me with respect, even if nothing of it matters anymore. She'll serve me in any way I see fit and if you have anymore to say to that I swear I'll fuck both of you in front of your lady mother until she dies from a broken heart!"

He pants, his cock achingly hard by now. Robb has gone pale.

"I don't recognize you anymore."

He scrambles to his feet, fleeing before he's been dismissed. The king smiles. A little more of that and Robb will personally set him on fire.

 

That night the king dreams. Of Robb, begging to suck his cock, Sansa waiting for him by the fire, his father's disappointed look, Greyjoy on his knees, weeping over poor Robb losing his brother, Robb again, hate in his eyes, Lady Stark's fury, Greyjoy, smiling mockingly with that wide mouth of his, and oh what he could do to that mouth - he wakes up with a jolt, drenched in sweat.

He stumbles to his feet, to the door. The little squire outside jumps upon seeing the king.

"Fetch me a bath." The king hesitates for only a second. "And Lord Greyjoy."

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Greyjoy arrives when the servants are finished preparing the king's bath. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. Now he's staring at the tub. The king's already getting impatient when Greyjoy finally speaks.

"How can I be of service, my king?"

His voice is detached, like something he's memorized. The king smiles. Time to shake his indifferent demeanour. He shifts out of the tunic he's been wearing for the servants' benefit.

"Help me with my bath."

Greyjoy swallows, clenches and unclenches his hands, stares at the ground. The king watches his struggle with growing amusement.

"You better get used to the sight. Helping me with my bath is just one of your many new duties as my bedwarmer."

 

The silence following his words is deafening. It goes on for long enough the king begins to think he's not been heard. He opens his mouth to repeat himself, when Greyjoy's head snaps up.

"Who told you? Robb?"

For a moment the king doesn't know what to say. Told him? What? He shakes his head.

"No idea what you mean. Nobody told me anything. _I'm_ telling _you_ of your new place, and you'd fare better if you listened."

Greyjoy dares to laugh. It sounds gratifyingly bitter and the king's lips pull into a tight, mocking smile. It feels good, that smile. Not being on the receiving end of it at least.

"Why are you doing this, then? Do you really hate me that fucking much?"

Greyjoy's voice isn't so detached anymore, he sounds more like he's biting back a snarl.

"Do you have to torture me? Show me, what it could... how it would..."

 

He trails off, swaying slightly on his feet. Jon would've reached out to steady him, Greyjoy or not. The king rolls his eyes.

"It's only five months, I'm sure you'll survive. Just keep the reward in sight."

Greyjoy looks up like he can't believe his ears.

_"Reward?"_

The king shrugs. "Being rid of Jon for good." He sighs. "Now can we stop chatting about my imminent demise? Remember, it's a great honour being chosen by the Summer King."

Greyjoy doesn't answer and the king gets impatient again.

"Any objections or can we get on with it before the water gets freezing?"

Greyjoy coughs. 

"We're both men."

 

The king thinks this might be the funniest thing he's heard since Beltane.

"Are you kidding me? Don't tell me you never had another man. Mayhaps even Robb? I did wonder where his sudden eagerness for cock came from. And remember Bolton? Two years ago when he was Summer King? His first command was to get his bastard brother into the Dreadfort. He claimed him. His own _brother_ , and no one batted an eyelid."

"Actually I think it was the other way round," Greyjoy mumbles. He looks up.

"So this is your revenge. For every time I called you a bastard, or a whore's son." He nods. "I don't deserve better."

He dips his hand into the tub.

"It's still warm. My king."

 

The king tilts his head back, closing his eyes. The warm water being poured over his hair feels heavenly - as do the hands carding through it, gently disentangling his curls. The king looks up at the man hovering over him. Greyjoy's face is a picture of concentration, his lips pressed together tightly.

For a second his fingertips graze the king's neck and he can feel goosebumps prickling over his skin. He would've never thought Greyjoy to actually be good at this. He isn't the most caring person alive. And still his touches feel like it. Like he cares.

The king sits up abruptly. This is so Jon, desperately trying to see things that aren't there, just for the sake of it.

Before he can say or do anything, a warm, wet cloth is dragged over his shoulders, and fuck if it isn't fantastic, to have someone else doing it for him.

He squints at Greyjoy crouching next to the tub. It's so strange, having him so compliant and obediant. He'd always been Jon's ever-present tormentor - this is a lot better. Still, the king feels a bit uncomfortable. He's not used to it yet.

He turns his torso towards Greyjoy, meaning to stop this now before he gets any more insecure. Or any more obvious, parts of him. Greyjoy misunderstands completely, turning his attention to the king's chest and neck. 

The king opens his mouth but Greyjoy chooses that moment to start talking. 

"You know, I thought about what you said. About it being better when everyone hates you when your time... when it's... I think I get it. You need to be this... king persona. But you're still you. Snow is still there."

The king scoffs.

"You're wrong."

Greyjoy finally smirks.

"Close your eyes."

The sudden change from complete quietness to the sudden familiarity to that new assertive tone right now - it overwhelms the king enough that he does close his eyes.

For a moment nothing happens, then the warm cloth is back, tracing every plain of his face. The king feels himself tremble as gentle fingers ghost over his lips. This has to stop. He shifts back, eyes still closed.

"We're done here."

For a moment he considers what to do next. Should he order him to do anything about his painfully obvious erection? The king shivers. No matter what he's become, he's still seventeen, still unkissed, untouched. Still a bashful virgin underneath the commands and harsh voice and cool mask. Better wait until he's sufficiently inebriated for such a thing.

Strange, the king muses. He did have absolutely no such thoughts when Robb came to his chambers yesterday. He could've just done it. If Jon hadn't been so vehemently opposed to it. Mayhaps it's because he's always loved Robb, trusted him. The king sighs inwardly. He's got to work harder on his own indifference. He opens his eyes and gets up. Greyjoy's already waiting with a large towel. He wraps the king in it, almost an embrace. When he pulls back he's not looking at the king.

For a long while they're just standing there, Greyjoy waiting for the king to say something, the king waiting for a spontaneous illumination what to do. Finally the king clears his throat.

"I'm hungry, I think I'll go down into the hall. I expect to find you here upon my return."

The king hopes his face is as expressionless as he wants it to be, but when Greyjoy finally looks up at him he flinches back.

"Have I done something wrong?"

"Not in the last half hour. Why?"

"Because you look angry as fuck. My king."

The king sneers. "Actually, I enjoyed that right now well enough. You're at least good for that."

"I'm good at many things," mutters Greyjoy insolently.

The king raises his eyebrows mock-expectantly.

"Ah?"

Greyjoy closes the distance between them with one step, his face not one inch from the king's all of a sudden, his breath ghosting over the king's lips.

 

"Theon!!! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Jon has flinched back, staring at him, eyes wide, heart racing.

And Greyjoy smiles, his wide familiar smile, and draws him into his arms.

"Hey Snow," he whispers in Jon's curls.


	4. Chapter 4

When the king enters the hall only Lord and Lady Stark are present. The Lord bids him a good morning, the Lady says nothing. The king smiles and turns to his squire.

"Go and get Lady Sansa."

Lady Stark's knife drops onto her plate. Lord Stark's hands grip the edge of the table. Neither says a word.

Sansa arrives quickly enough, curtsying before the king. He looks her up and down. Her cheeks are a lovely shade of red, she's wearing a blue-grey dress that brings out her eyes and her hair is done up in a complicated looking braid. It's obvious she's taken special care in her appearance today. The king wonders what this could be about. For now he's hungry, so he indicates the plates a servant has brought for him.

"If mylady were so kind?"

She goes to sit down next to him and in one quick move the king has pulled her into his lap. She stiffens in surprise for a moment, but relaxes quickly enough. Lord Stark seems tense as he gets up.

"If you'll excuse me, my king. I cannot watch my daughter being treated like some serving girl."

The king waves him away graciously, but when Lady Stark wants to follow her husband he laughs.

"Oh no. No, no, no. Not you. _You_ stay. _You_ watch."

And she watches, as Sansa feeds the king bread and cheese and dried meat. She's entirely relaxed now, probably because there's absolutely nothing going on where she's sitting.

One of Lady Catelyn's hands clenches tightly around her knife, but the king just shakes his head, smiling his cold smile. When Sansa has fed him a honey cake the king gazes at Lady Catelyn. Then he takes Sansa's delicate wrist in his hand and licks the honey from her sticky fingers.

Sansa giggles. The king looks up at her face. She's blushing fiercely, biting her lip, already angling for another cake. If they'll continue like this, the king thinks, he'll get fat. A small noise to the side catches his attention. Lady Stark is crying.

 

The king wants to howl in triumph, but it wouldn't be very kingly to do so. Instead he shoves Sansa from his lap and gets up.

"Mylady, I thank you. I need to get some exercise now, so I - _we_ \- can eat more honey cakes tomorrow."

 He bends over her hand, bestowing a light kiss into her palm. Sansa bites back a squeal. Two hisses sound through the hall. Lady Catelyn - and Robb who has chosen this exact moment to appear in the hall. The king raises an eyebrow, daring Robb to say a word. He doesn't, but his face is pale, his mouth pulled into a deep frown. Sansa shifts and the king's attention returns to her. He looks at her questioningly.

"My king, can I... may I watch?"

The king nods curtly. "If you wish." He turns to Jon's brother. "Robb. Spar with me." 

He leaves the hall, not looking back to see if Robb is following. He doesn't have a choice.

 

The king walks straight into the armoury, just like Jon always used to. But today he only retrieves one sword, not two. The Summer King shouldn't coddle the Stark lordling like Jon did.

After Robb has retrieved a sword for himself he goes to stand opposite the king. His first strike comes fast but the king parries with ease. He raises an eyebrow.

"One tiny hint you're letting me win on purpose and I'll beat the shit out of you. Understood?"

Robb nods, lips firmly pressed together. Up on the gallery Sansa and her silly friend have taken place, and every blow the king averts, every strike he hits, is met by enthusiastic applause. When Robb's sword catches him in an unguarded moment Sansa gasps and covers her face with her hands, peeking out between her fingers. When the king takes off his tunic there are shrill giggles and squeals from up there and the king rolls his eyes. For a second Robb looks like he wants to laugh before he remembers himself.

Finally the king has had enough. He throws Robb his sword and with a last wave to the girls he makes his way to the Godswood. Robb catches up with him before he can reach the pools.

"Wait, J- my king. I'm sorry."

The king shrugs. This'll happen often enough until they're used to Jon being dead. Maybe he can hasten the process.

"What do you want? Are you begging me to let you _serve_ me again?"

Robb swallows.

"No."

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself.

 

"I just wanted to ask if you've seen Theon? I couldn't find him all morning."

The king scoffs.

"He better be waiting in my bed if he knows what's good for him. What do you want from him?"

Robb stands stock-still, mouth agape. Finally he speaks.

"How the hell did you find out?? Don't tell me he actually told you himself, after all this time."

What now? The king frowns. He has had it, all that who told whom whatever talk. He's sweaty and if he doesn't take a long soak in the pool now he'll be in agony tomorrow.

"I don't know what you are all going on about. I want him to be my bedwarmer and that's that."

Robb swallows. "So... you want him because - why do you want him?"

 

_Because Jon won't let me want you._

 

The king sighs deeply. It's not entirely true. There are other motives. Revenge. Power, finally. And Greyjoy's big mouth, so familiar, so tormenting. So tempting.

"None of your business, really. It seems I need to put my dick _somewhere_ or else I'll die a virgin - terrible thought _-_ and he's a slut anyways so-"

A growl interrupts the king and he straightens himself. How _dare_ he... Robb has noticed what he's doing and raises his hands.

"Forgive me, please, my king! It's just..." He sighs, reaches out. The king looks down at the offered hand and takes a step back. Robb's eyes are sad.

"I know what you're doing, you want us to hate you. It isn't going to work with _him_. He's in way too deep. He's been for a long time."

Robb turns to go, hesitates.

"Try to make it count. Your time. For the both of you."

 

After this cryptic speech he leaves the king alone, and confused.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to @callmejude for all your help!

The king is fucked. After Robb had left him he didn't have the nerves for a long soak in the pool. And he sure as hell didn't have the nerves to go back to his chambers. Robb's words are circling in his head. Make it count, for the both of them? But what?

Finally he goes back into the Great Keep and gets utterly, utterly drunk. He's sitting in the kitchens now, two giggling maids fluttering around him. He's had to actually shove them away to prevent them from just going for his trousers. Instead he let them fill his tankard again and again, and now the world is spinning. One of the girls seems to be preparing for another attack, so he drains the last remains and gets up.

He stumbles across the halls. Upon reaching his chambers he blinks. His little squire is standing dutifully in front of the door. The king turns around, and there's his squire, waiting behind him. The king turns back to the one at his door.

"Are you kidding me?"

He notices how his voice sounds, harsh and angry. Good. The boy at the door quivers, the one behind the king speaks up.

"I beg your pardon, my king. That's my twin brother Jason. He was looking after your... after Lord Greyjoy."

The king sways. Ah. Well, good thinking. He nods, then makes an effort to arrange his face into a stern mask of indifference before entering his chambers. Everything is blurry and he stops, takes off his tunic, leaning against the closed door.

"Thought you'd never come back."

The king looks over to the bed. Greyjoy is sitting up, a fur pulled up to his naked chest. He's smiling, but it doesn't reach his eyes. They are sad. The king curses under his breath, slumping down at the fireplace. So much for his indifference. He shivers, despite the flames.

A movement behind him has the king go rigid. He starts when a fur is draped over his shoulders. His hair is pulled from beneath it and combed through, just like in the morning. And then his drunken mind goes blank when he feels a soft set of lips brush over his neck.

"What..." The king clears his throat. "I don't... what are you..."

He can practically feel him smiling against his skin.

"What I'm here for. What I waited for the whole day."

The king shudders. This is not how he thought this would go. He thought he'd just stuff Greyjoy's mouth with his dick or something like this. He could still do that. It's just... the gentle caresses feel so good. Too good. With an abrupt move he gets up, throwing the fur from his shoulders. He knows he looks like the Summer King now.

"You think I need to be coddled like a wench? Just get on with it."

Greyjoy is kneeling before him, his hair falling into his eyes. He's holding onto the bloody fur like a lifeline. Then he looks up, his face carefully blank.

"As you wish. My king."

He leans forward and before the king can think better of it his breeches are down to his ankles and his dick is out. He closes his eyes. Nothing happens and he opens them again. Greyjoy is trembling, his breathing ragged.

Jon blinks.

"Theon... are you okay?"

Greyjoy shakes his head.

"I'm sorry. It's just..." He looks up, eyes wide. "It's not like I imagined... seeing you like this." He smiles. Jon flinches back.

"I don't understand." _Imagined_? He shudders. "I can't do that. I just can't."

Greyjoy scoffs, a familiar, mocking sound.

"Drowned God, Snow... Can you be any more of a green boy?"

The king growls, fists his hand in Greyjoy's hair.

"Shut. The fuck. Up!"

And the second Greyjoy opens his mouth the king shoves him onto his rock hard dick.

 _Fuck_.

It's even better than he thought, warm and wet, and he groans, thrusting harder, faster. Greyjoy doesn't resist, just looks at him with those large eyes, pliant, meek. It doesn't take the king long to spill inside Greyjoy's mouth. Greyjoy coughs a little, then pulls back once the king's fingers release his hair. His voice sounds hoarse.

"See? I knew you had it in you. My king."

The king feels cold all of a sudden. He stumbles out of his breeches, over to his bed, pulling the furs around him. After a moment Greyjoy follows. He doesn't touch him, just lies at his side. The king doesn't know how he should be able to sleep like that, with another body so near. He tries to think of something to say.

"You will get your things over here on the morrow. You won't be needing your room for the summer. I'll tell them to make it ready for you again when I - when it's time."

Greyjoy doesn't answer. His back is turned on the king. Mayhaps he's asleep already. To his own surprise the king feels sleepy himself. He closes his eyes. It's been a fucking long day.

He's woken in the middle of the night by a strange noise. He tries to listen more closely, not moving. It's Greyjoy, and he's crying into his pillow. For a moment the king is annoyed. Why does he have to act like he's going to be sacrificed? Narcisstic prick. A horrible thought shoots through the king's mind.

_Maybe he's hurt?_

Before he can stop it, Jon has rolled around, carefully placing a hand on Greyjoy's shoulder.

"Theon? Did I hurt you?"

With a sob Theon turns around, clinging to Jon like a drowning man. Jon is stiff as a plank, not knowing in the slightest what to do. He rubs Theon's back awkwardly while his face is buried in the crook of Jon's neck. Jon searches for words, not finding any. So he just holds him silently for what feels like an eternity.

Theon has fallen into an uneasy sleep, still wrapped around Jon. Jon is miles away from sleep himself. When Theon mewls pitifully in his dream he cradles him closer. He can't think straight.

Theon's behaving so strange since Jon's name has been drawn. Almost as if he's been picked. Jon remembers how he saw him crying in the stables, he had looked as if his heart had been broken. Theon's voice startles him out of his thoughts.

"Jon..."

Jon frowns. It sounds desperate, the way Theon says his name. Like he's trying to call for him. He says it again and again, and Jon grows more agitated by the second. He doesn't know what else to do, so he bends down and kisses Theon's forehead. It seems to calm him, so he does it again, and then again.

"Jon."

It's not a cry from a dream anymore, Theon's eyes are open and he's looking up into Jon's face. He tilts his chin and Jon meets him halfway. It's Jon's first kiss, and it's much sweeter than he'd ever thought. Theon opens his mouth and Jon feels his stomach tighten. For a moment all he can feel is heat when Theon deepens the kiss. Heat and confusion.

His hand slowly creeps to cradle the back of Theon's head when he kisses him back, one last thought echoing in his mind before it disappears too.

_Make it count._

 


	6. Chapter 6

The king is lying on his back, arms behind his head. He's tired, his body aches. Greyjoy is still out cold, he fell asleep in Jon's arms last night after they'd kissed for what felt like hours. At least he didn't dream anymore. But Jon had been awake for the rest of the night, trying to come to terms with what was happening to him.

The king sighs. He really can't afford to go soft everytime he's around Greyjoy. It won't make his exit any easier when his day comes. And apparently Greyjoy has a thing or whatever for Jon, that's the only explanation the king can come up with, unlikely as it sounds. And Robb knows.

The king wonders how long this has been going on, and why no one has ever told Jon. What would've been his reaction? He probably would've thought it was some elaborate joke. But now... Greyjoy can't be that good of an actor, and then why would he act like that? No, it must be true.

And if it is true it would be cruel to let him stay. He should just wake him, tell him that was that and to fuck off, then ignore him for the rest of his time. The king gazes over. Greyjoy's face is peaceful, relaxed. He looks younger like that. The king frowns, then sits up. He groans. Every muscle in his body is aching. The sparring yesterday, after nearly a week of no training at all... he'll be stiff all day.

His groaning has woken Greyjoy. He looks up with a smile. It fades quickly when he sees the king looking back. The king tries to get up, away from him, but the pain in his shoulders has him hiss and still. Greyjoy sits up.

"If you allow me, my king, I can help. Lie on your stomach."

The king regards him suspiciously, but Greyjoy's face is calm, so the king lies down. To his surprise Greyjoy gets up, to the door, whispering something to the squires. Then he comes back to the bed, sitting down.

"Two minutes."

He reaches out, smoothes the king's hair down his nape. Neither speaks. Soon enough there's a knock and Greyjoy goes to get whatever the squire fetched for him. The king drops his head onto his arms. His shoulders hurt like hell.

The bed dips, and a warm weight presses the king deeper into the furs. Greyjoy is straddling his hips, no barrier between them but his breeches. The king is naked. Greyjoy's hands drop to the king's shoulders. They are warm and slick with something.

"What is that?"

Greyjoy chuckles. 

"Something I bought from a merchant two years ago when I realized - when I thought I might need it someday. It's some kind of oil. It warms on skin, but doesn't get too warm to... you can touch anything with it."

While he's talking his fingers are pressing into the king's neck. The king clenches his teeth.

"That hurts."

The fingers press on, gliding down to his shoulders. 

"Aye, it does. But it will feel good soon. Try to relax."

And he's right. After a while it starts to feel good. It's still painful when Greyjoy grabs his flesh and firmly kneads the muscles in his back and shoulders, but afterwards a warm glow permeats him. 

"Turn around."

The king does. Greyjoy takes one of the king's arms and continues his treatment, down to the king's hand, then the other arm. The king looks up at him. Greyjoy's face is still calm. When he sees the king looking at him he bends down. The king turns his head to the side. 

"Stop that."

Greyjoy straightens, hurt on his face now. He rocks back and the king hisses. Somewhere inbetween he's gotten hard again. Greyjoy looks shaken. 

"Do you want me to..?"

The king wants to laugh. Of course he wants him to. That's what he's keeping him here for after all. To put that big mouth to good use. Before he can say so Greyjoy continues. 

"Or you could fuck me."

The king stares at him. He hasn't even thought of that. Until now. How should this even work? He realizes his mouth is hanging open, he's staring up at Greyjoy like a moron. He clears his throat. 

"Not... not now. I need to get down. You can go too if you want. You don't need to stay here all day. Just..."

He extracts himself from under Greyjoy, careful not to touch him. He drops his head, desperately trying to get a grip on himself. When he looks up again, his face is cold. It feels cold.

"Just make sure you're back when the sun goes down. You'll be waiting for me on your knees."

With that he gets up, quickly slipping into a pair of breeches and a tunic. He has loads of new clothes now. 

"Jon..."

It sounds like a plea. The king hesitates in the doorway, then leaves without looking back.

The day passes pretty much like the last, with the exeption of Sansa taking place in his lap on her own accord. She's all blushes and giggles and a part of him thinks she's quite adorable like that. Jon and Sansa had never been close, but the Summer King...

He does get it, of course. He's no longer the annoying bastard, he's a tragic hero. And he's picked her as his lady, at least in public. And since he doesn't actually do anything more... It must be like something out of her romantic stories. And why not, after all? At least someone will weep for him, if only for the king, not Jon.

After breakfast he spars again with Robb. Despite the delicious treatment Greyjoy had administered onto his sore muscles he's pretty stiff. It doesn't matter, he supposes. He can tell him to do it again later. After he's done what he did yesterday evening. 

He spends the afternoon in the kitchens again, and today he's more at ease. He doesn't drink so much, instead he tries to flirt with the girls a bit. They're delighted and he even gets them to make some lemon cakes for tomorrow. Sansa deserves a reward for her good behaviour. 

When the sun goes down he approaches his chambers with a lot more confidence than before. He pauses at the door, turning to the twin squire.

"Did you move Lord Greyjoy's possessions over today?"

The boy bows.

"Yes, my king."

"And has Lord Greyjoy left my chambers during the day?"

"No, my king."

He sighs. That's not what he wanted, to keep him imprisoned. He'll have to think of something. For now he's done with thinking. He's been reasonably hard for the last half hour, knowing what would be waiting for him upon his return. He opens the door after a lot of jiggling with the lock to give Greyjoy time to get down onto his knees like he commanded him to.

When the king finally enters he sees him immediately. He's kneeling on a thick fur by the fire. He must've dragged it there from the bed. His eyes are shadowed, his cheeks hollow. It seems like he's lost weight in just a few days. Even his ribs are showing. Greyjoy smiles.

"How do you want me, my king?"


	7. Chapter 7

 

The king turns away. This is too complicated. He's too tired. 

"I don't. Go to bed. And please - if you could refrain from yesterday's behaviour, I'd be immensely grateful. I need my sleep. Can't spend my nights comforting someone who's going to be totally fine. Unlike me."

Greyjoy gets up, swaying slightly. The king watches him stumble to the bed. He looks like he'll black out any second. The king sighs.

"When was the last time you've eaten something?"

Greyjoy shrugs. 

"Beltane."

The king stares at him. 

"You haven't eaten in four days."

"I wasn't hungry." 

The king shakes his head. 

"Good gods, man. You do realize that starving yourself isn't going to change anything, yes? I didn't think..." He sighs. "Sit down. I'll be back in a minute."

He looks outside. Both squires have fallen asleep, huddled together against the wall. He rolls his eyes. Looks like the bloody Summer King will raid the kitchens himself. 

He comes back with his arms full. Good thing the Winterfell kitchens are always well stocked. The squires are still snoring which the king is glad about. He doesn't look very kingly now, more like a naughty boy pinching food. But needs must. 

He dumps his loot on the table and sits down. He crosses his arms and looks at Greyjoy expectantly.

"Eat."

Greyjoy eyes the food with a frown.

"I can't. I already feel sick from looking at it."

The king rolls his eyes. 

"I didn't _ask_ you to eat, I _ordered_ you to eat. Now get on with it before I just stuff it down your throat. The food."

The king huffs angrily when he feels heat rising in his face. Greyjoy tries to hide his smile in his cup. Sighing the king takes a pie and holds it out.

"Here. Eat. And if you bite me I'll break your teeth. Open up!"

Greyjoy chuckles and the king curses inwardly. Damn all those ambiguous words. He starts when Greyjoy takes his hand and bites into the pie. The king drops it.

"If you think I'm feeding you, you've got it horribly wrong. _I'm_ the Summer King, you should be the one serving _me_. After all we won't swap places on Mabon either."

He immediately regrets his words. Greyjoy looks like he's going to be sick. He swallows.

"Would that I could."

It's nothing more than a whisper and the king thinks he might've misheard. He shoves a plate with cakes at Greyjoy.

"Here, try something sweet."

Greyjoy takes one of the cakes, regarding it with a strange expression.

"If I were to feed you honey cakes... would you lick my fingers like Sansa's?"

The king stares at him.

"How do you know that?"

Greyjoy jerks his head at the door.

"Jason's a tattletale. So..." He bites into the cake absentmindedly, cringing at the taste. "She's your little tool to show her mother?"

"That - and I actually enjoy her company when she's not looking down her nose at me."

Greyjoy eats another cake. 

"I wondered why you haven't made a fuss about Arya and the boys."

The king straightens. 

"What do you mean?"

Greyjoy licks his fingers.

"Didn't you wonder why you haven't seen them?"

"Honestly? No."

The king starts to feel horrible. His little sister, his little brothers... he hasn't thought of them even for a second since Beltane. Greyjoy continues.

"Lady Stark had them brought to her father in Riverrun the day after Beltane. To spare them from... you know."

_And who spares me?_

The king growls.

"Without giving Jon the chance to say goodbye?"

He clenches his teeth, hands balled into fists. Greyjoy puts the apple he's held down again. He looks anguished.

"I wish you'd stop that. Pretending you're someone else. I know you're still you."

The king tries to hold on, but it's impossible, with Greyjoy looking at him like this. Jon leans forward.

"I need to be him. I can't be me, don't you understand? I don't think I can get through this without being a different person. Jon... I... could never be cold enough to make them hate me."

Theon reaches out.

"Then be him, by all means, but - do you have to be when we're in here? Just so you know, I won't hate you no matter what you do."

Jon groans. 

"Yeah, about that... I don't get it, Theon. Where's all that coming from all of a sudden?" 

He indicates the two of them.

"I was always under the impression that you do hate me."

Theon smiles tightly, catching Jon's hand mid-move. 

"Oh, believe me I tried. But, you know..." His thumb starts describing tiny circles in Jon's palm. "There's a very thin line between hate and. Well. That other thing."

Jon stares. The other thing. He can't mean it. This is Theon Greyjoy who'd taken every opportunity to make fun of Jon. Greyjoy who has been with nearly every wench in Winterfell. Jon shakes his head, wants to pull his hand back. Greyjoy holds on. Jon clears his throat.

"It's hard. Being the Summer King around you. Maybe you should leave."

Theon tightens his grip.

"Why? You wanted me. To be your bedwarmer. That's what you said. And you seemed to like that... yesterday."

Jon groans at the memory.

"That was him. I couldn't ever have done that."

Theon swallows and releases Jon's hand. He looks pained.

"But later, when we kissed... that was you. Do _you_  ever want me, Jon? Or was it all just him?"

Jon gets up. He feels confused. Theon is waiting for an answer, his body tense. And for some reason Jon doesn't want to hurt him. So he tells the truth.

"I don't know. I liked kissing you. But I haven't ever done anything like this before and..."

He trails off. Theon rises to his feet, steadier than before. He stops before Jon, takes his hands again.

"I want you, Jon. Not him."

Jon looks up into his face.

"I can't promise. Not to be him. And he may hurt you."

Theon's hand wanders up to Jon's face, stroking back his hair

"If being him is the only way you want me... be him. I don't want to leave. I take what I can." He smiles sadly. "Come to bed. You need some sleep."


	8. Chapter 8

Jon wakes up feeling warm. Theon is wrapped around him, just like they've fallen asleep yesterday. He carefully turns and nudges Theon's shoulder.

"Hey. Wake up. Time to go break our fast."

Theon mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, "Kiss me awake."

Jon rolls his eyes.

"Who do you think you are, some fair princess? Come on, I'm hungry."

He kisses him anyways. Suddenly he's on his back, Theon on top of him. Jon squints.

"What."

Theon smiles and bends down, nosing along Jon's neck.

"You want me to go down with you?"

Jon shudders, then braces himself up.

"Yes. Down. Hall. You're going to behave like a normal human being again. And stop that! I can't go down when I'm so..."

"Hard?" Theon asks and grinds his hips into Jon's.

Jon's laugh sounds more like a bitten-off moan, but he shoves Theon away.

"Not now!!"

Theon sits back, grinning hopefully.

"But later?"

Jon gets up, getting dressed. He looks back over his shoulder.

"Come on, get dressed. I thought you could help me practice archery later." He straightens his shoulders and sighs. When he speaks again it's his other voice.

"Move."

They go down into the hall. Lady Stark and Robb are quietly eating. Sansa is not present. When Robb sees Greyjoy behind the king his eyes widen and he gets up.

"Theon! Are you okay?"

He reaches out but the king is faster, grabbing a fistful of Robb's hair and forcing him into his seat again. Lady Stark watches tensely. The king doesn't like her look.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Robb, or I might come to the conclusion you don't need them anymore."

The king smiles down at him. Robb's eyes are wide. A servant brings more food and drink for the king and Greyjoy, and coincidentally the king's gaze falls on Lady Stark. She looks like she has trouble hiding something... mirth?

He regards his plate and cup. Could she...

"Robb," he says, watching her closely. "Why don't you take a sip from my mead?"

He gently scrapes his fingers over Robb's neck.

"There, you're shivering. It'll warm you up."

Robb looks up at him, entirely confused, but takes the cup from the king's hand. The king looks over. Lady Catelyn has gone pale. Robb brings the cup to his lips and she cries out.

"Robb, no!"

The king laughs.

"Oh, mylady... what have you done?"

Robb looks from the king to Lady Catelyn. She's staring at him, slightly shaking her head, beads of sweat forming on her brow. Robb's face contorts in pain.

"Mother... why?"

He looks back at the king. Then he drains the cup.

For a moment time stands still. Then all hell breaks loose. The king surges forward to Robb, who's started to look dizzy. He's coughing and the king screams at Greyjoy.

"Go get the maester! NOW!"

Greyjoy has gone pale, arms outstretched as if to take hold of Robb. At the king's command he starts, then nods and runs out.

The king turns to Robb, grabbing his shoulders, shaking him.

"You. Have you lost your fucking mind?? Open your damn mouth, you moron!"

Lady Catelyn sits stock-still, horror plain on her face as she watches her son fall to his knees, heaving up his breakfast.

"Robb," she whispers over and over again.

The king thinks he's never wanted to hit someone so badly.

"Shut up," he hisses at her.

The maester arrives quickly enough, alone. With a hard look at Lady Stark he draws a small flask and holds it to Robb's mouth.

"Is it what I think, mylady?"

Lady Stark nods hesitantly and the maester gently tilts Robb's head back.

Robb swallows, coughs. Then he goes limp in the king's arms. The king looks up at the maester.

"What... will..."

The maester sighs.

"Hard to say. Tomorrow we'll know more. It wasn't... it's not lethal."

He looks over to where Lady Stark is still glued to her seat.

"Shall I have her restrained, my king?"

The king nods at two guards.

"Bring Robb into his chambers. Maester - I think what happened here was an unfortunate accident. We need not talk about it again. Go and do whatever you can to help Robb."

The maester studies him for a second, then bows and leaves. The king turns to Lady Catelyn.

"If you so much as set foot in your son's chamber I will know of it. We'll talk about... this... later."

He leaves for Robb's chambers.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're entering the dark realm of very, VERY dubious dubcon here. Theon knew what he was getting himself into, but it's still very, very, VERY dubious.
> 
> Don't hate Jon, he's not even there.

The king is standing in the doorway, fists clenched, a growl rising in his chest. Greyjoy -  _his Greyjoy_ \- is sitting beside Robb's bed, holding his bloody hand. Now he raises his other hand and strokes Robb's forehead. The king explodes.

With one step he's in, grabbing Greyjoy's neck, dragging him up.

"You... out!"

He pushes Greyjoy in front of him, out of the door. Greyjoy whimpers and the king snarls.

"One word, Greyjoy... just one fucking word..."

Once they've reached the king's chambers he throws him face first onto the bed, furiously tugging at his breeches.

"I'll show you who you belong to. All your stupid talk... let's see what you have to say to _this_!"

He rips Greyjoy's breeches down. When he tries to turn around the king slaps him hard across the face. Greyjoy gasps.

"Jon..."

"Jon, Jon! That's all I ever hear from you. And tell me, why's that when all on your mind is Robb, Robb?"

Greyjoy sobs.

"He's my best friend, he's hurt, he drank poison for you! Jon, please!"

The king just laughs.

"You said you wanted Jon? Well, tell me if you want him still when I'm done with you!"

Greyjoy winces under the king's harsh hands on his hips.

"Jon, I do want you, but please, the oil - please, this isn't - _I beg you, my king!!"_

The king laughs, stretches over Greyjoy's taut body to reach the little flask Greyjoy has left on the bedside table. He pours it onto himself and flips Greyjoy on his back. He doesn't fight him, spreads his legs.

"My king... please... I do want you, Jon!"

"Since you've asked so nicely... Look at me. I have his face."

The king grabs Greyjoy's thighs, yanks him closer. He pushes into him slowly and Greyjoy cries out, his head falling back. The king groans. So warm... so tight... He pulls out, only to thrust in again, harder this time. Somehow he's aware this shouldn't be so easy, there should be more resistance. Nothing is resisting him, and now Greyjoy's arms are coming up around his shoulders, he's clinging to the king and the king lets him. 

All conscious thoughts vanish when all too soon he feels his balls tighten, it feels so fantastic... With a final curse he spills, still deep inside Greyjoy. He won't let go of the king, his face pressed into the king's hair. It feels damp.

The king removes Greyjoy's arms more carefully than he wanted to. There's a strange feeling squirming in his gut that has him reach out to stroke Greyjoy's hair. Greyjoy's not looking at him when the king moves away. The king cleans himself, then pulls his breeches back up.

"I'll check on your sweetling so you don't have to trouble yourself. See you later."

The words don't come out as venomous as he'd thought, there's more bitterness in them. He still can't pinpoint that strange feeling, gnawing at his stomach. He leaves Greyjoy lying on the bed. Before the door closes he hears a choked cry. It sounds like "Jon"

 

The king silently enters Robb's chambers. He's sleeping. The maester is standing at the window. Now he turns around and bows.

"My king."

"How is he?"

"He'll be fine. His stomach is going to hurt for a while. Making him purge was the right thing to do."

The king's shoulders sag in relief. The maester nearly smiles.

"He was lucky. The poison... it's actually a cure, if a nasty one. In a large dose it could be lethal... it's just that I don't stock enough for that much. She - it must have been misjudged."

The king nods. He doesn't know what to make of this dilettante attack. What's the purpose? He's dead soon enough anyways.

Robb stirs, groans, his eyes opening. The king smiles at him before he can stop himself.

"Leave us alone, maester."

The maester bows and leaves. The king sits down beside the bed.

"You fucking idiot. Care to tell me why you did that? I would never have asked you to drink if I'd known you would actually do it."

Robb laughs, then clutches his stomach.

"Ow. I don't know. I just thought, please not Jon. And maybe... maybe I just didn't want to believe mother could have really done it."

The king rolls his eyes.

"You do realize it's pretty futile to rescue a dead man? Robb Stark, the eternal hero."

Robb drops his head back.

"Will you punish her?"

The king shrugs.

"Haven't thought about it yet."

Robb's eyes are closed again.

"M glad you and Theon are getting along now. You're being good to him?"

The king feels cold all of a sudden.

"What... why do you say that?"

Robb's words are slurred, he's drifting back into sleep.

"Was here before you came. Seemed happier than in a long time. Talked of you until I was out."

It's like a fist of ice slamming into the king's guts. He sits motionless, long after Robb has fallen asleep. A soft shuffling sound at the door attracts his attention. Sansa, quietly hovering in the doorway. She's looking at Robb with red eyes.

"Was it really... did mother do this?"

The king sighs, gets up.

"Not on purpose."

"Because she really meant to get you."

He looks at her in surprise. He always thought she was just a silly little girl. But that...

"Clever. Yes, I think she did."

She hesitates, then all of a sudden she's in his arms, sobbing into his tunic.

"I hate her."

Carefully he closes his arms around her.

"She's your mother."

"She wanted to hurt you. She hurt Robb."

She feels like a small animal in his arms, despite being nearly his height, entirely trusting, and his thoughts wander back to when Robb thought he was hurting her. As if he ever could, no matter how she acted towards him before.

He gently unwraps her hands behind his back.

"Go down to the kitchens. I think there are some lemon cakes with your name on them. Robb is sleeping now, but he'll be fine."

She smiles in delight, tears already dried. 

"Thank you, my king. Don't you want to come with me? I may share them with you."

That's kind of sweet and without thinking he leans forward, brotherly kissing her cheek. Sansa's face colours, a bright red, she turns and runs away.

The king looks after her. For a moment she's distracted him from what Robb had said. Now he's alone, and there's no escaping his thoughts.

_I hurt him. He was happy, and I hurt him. He told Robb about Jon. I hurt him._


	10. Chapter 10

After drawing a deep breath the king opens his door. One look confirms what he's thought - Greyjoy's in the exact same position he's left him in. His stomach tightens in guilt, and shame. He tries not to let it seep into his voice.

"Do you hate me yet?"

Greyjoy lifts his head. He looks awful, and another stab of guilt rushes through the king when Greyjoy gets up, his movements stiff. His face is unreadable.

"Yes."

The king nods, then turns to the window. That's what he wanted. It should feel better. He feels his presence behind him like Greyjoy's radiating heat. Two arms wind around his waist and the mask shatters into a thousand pieces.

Jon turns, ready to see the hate in Theon's eyes. It's only... there isn't any. Jon can't believe it.

"You just said you hate me."

Theon sighs.

"I hate _him_. I can't hate _you_."

"He hurt you so much," Jon whispers. "He was so fucking harsh, so brutal."

Theon hugs him closer. 

"What hurt wasn't how I was fucked. I did some... preparations since you first called for me. I'm fine. What really hurt was... I always thought you'd be the first. That's what hurts. That it wasn't you."

Jon buries his face against Theon's chest, tears pricking in his eyes. 

"How can you be fine? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! You were just caring for your friend and _he_... he lost it."

To Jon's bewilderment Theon sounds like he's smiling. 

"You - he was jealous."

Jon looks up. Theon's really smiling and Jon frowns at the sight. 

"I swear I'll never let him hurt you like that again."

Theon's smile fades.

"I don't think you're entirely in control anymore, Jon. That clearly wasn't you."

Jon shakes his head.

"How can you be so... so... like this? About this fucked up thing... I'll never forgive myself for letting this happen."

Theon swallows, opens his mouth.

"Because. Jon, I -"

A knock on the door startles them both.

"My king?"

His little squire's voice.

"Lord Stark asks to speak to you."

Jon panicks. He tries to pull up the facade of the Summer King, to no avail. He stares at Theon, eyes wide. 

"I can't talk to him like that. Theon, I can't!!"

Theon sighs.

"I'll do it. Get into bed, duck under the furs."

Jon does as he's told. He watches Theon pull on one of the king's fancy tunics, then walk to the door. He can't see what's going on from his nest of furs, only hears their voices. 

"Lord Stark."

Theon sounds composed, calm. Father is clearly surprised.

"Theon? I wanted to talk to the king."

"The king is resting. I'm authorized to speak on his behalf."

Jon smiles to himself. He should've thought of that himself, and sooner. Father still sounds disbelieving.

"Very well. I came to beg forgiveness of the king for my wife's horrendous actions. I wanted to ask the king to spare her."

Theon is quiet for some time, then he seems to come to a decision. 

"Lady Stark won't be harmed. She is not allowed around Robb without the king present anymore. If you'll excuse me now, mylord."

The door closes and Jon peeks out of his furs. Theon watches him, looking unsure. 

"Was that - did I say the right thing?"

Jon nods. 

"Perfect. I'm sure the king will come up with something nasty to punish her... but I don't even want to think about her now. Or him."

Jon watches Theon with increasing bewilderment. 

"Why are you _undressing_ , how can you _bear_ it??"

Theon blinks, halfway out of his clothes.

"Bear? Jon, I told you. I'm totally f-"

"I swear if you say fine again I have to kick you. He _forced_ himself on you!!"

Theon sits down on the bed.

"Try to overpower me. Come on. Do your worst."

Jon stares at him in disbelief.

"What?"

Theon laughs, slumping down on his back. He rolls to his side, smirking mockingly.

"I have three years on you, Snow. I have trained with the same weapons. I'm a head taller than you. Seriously, I could kill you with my thumb."

Jon sits up straighter, grabbing Theon's - his - shirt. He shakes him angrily.

"Then why didn't you, you idiot?"

Theon rolls his eyes. Jon has to fight the urge to smack that arrogant grin off his face. 

"Told you I'd take anything I can get. Besides, refusing the Summer King isn't a good idea, and who am I to - mmph!!"

Jon has pressed both hands on Theon's mouth. 

"Stop that!!" He sighs and drops his hands. "It's early afternoon and I'm in bed again. They'll think I'm the laziest Summer King ever."

Theon smirks, takes Jon's hand and puts it back to his face. He leans into it, closing his eyes.

"But. Seeing as we're in bed already..."

Jon reels back as if burned. 

"You can't be serious. After..." His eyes widen, now this is an idea. "Wait. Fuck me."

"Drowned God, Snow will you stop it? You're worse than a wench with your-"

Theon's eyes snap open mid-sentence.

"What was that?"

Jon is starting to smile with glee, this is perfect. 

"Of course! Do it, come on. Eye for an eye..."

"Cock for a cock? Jon, I'm not going to revenge-fuck you."

Theon looks strangely put out, but upon seeing Jon's crushed expression he softens.

"Not that I don't want to, just - not like that. Hey, if you want to make amends so hard you could use your pretty mouth."

Then he flinches, yelping in surprise.

"Jon, that was a jape, I didn't mean - JON!!!"

This isn't so bad, Jon thinks while trying to get used to that growing weight in his mouth. Actually it feels quite nice, and it's heady to be able to draw such sounds of pleasure from Theon.

Experimentally Jon bobs his head, trying to take more. Theon's hands thread into Jon's hair, he pulls slightly and a tingle runs down Jon's spine. He hums appreciatively.

"Oh fuck!"

Jon looks up, pulling back a bit. Theon's eyes are dazed, he's breathing hard. 

"Jon, I'm gonna... you should really stop now..."

Jon rolls his eyes and sucks him in again, as far as he can, swallowing around the hard length. A hitched curse sounds above him and suddenly Theon's dick twitches in his mouth and Jon coughs when Theon's seed gushes down his throat. He pulls off, looking up expectantly.

"So, was that okay or - hey!"

Theon has bent down, trying to kiss him. Jon ducks the attack.

"Stop it, that's disgusting! I should go wash my mouth or something, and  _then_ you can..."

"As if I give a damn horseshit. Snow! Hold still!"

Theon catches him and Jon forgets about protesting when their lips meet. 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Jon is sitting crosslegged on his bed, waiting for Theon to wake up. He's taking his sweet time and Jon's stomach is growling. He hasn't left his chambers for two days now, unable to get back into being the Summer King. Theon has been talking to the squires, has checked on Robb, has delivered the king's apologies for his absence to Sansa, has been the king's voice as perfect as possible.

Jon is thankful for that. It opens up so many possibilities - he could really use his power in a good way now. He has to think of something. But at the moment all he can think of is breakfast. He eyes Theon's lap. Maybe he could wake him... _No_. Despite having gotten a lot of practice at _that_ over the last days in his desperation to make amends, Jon is still horrified at what has happened.

He'll never do anything without Theon's written, signed and sealed approval ever again. _Really?_ A nasty voice in the back of his mind whispers. Jon shakes his head, trying to get rid of it. While he isn't able to be the king right now - he's never entirely gone from his head anymore.

Jon sighs. He's nearly dying of hunger. He clears his throat, loud. Theon doesn't stir. Jon coughs, louder. Nothing. Finally he loses his nerves, he starts to shout.

"WAKE UP!"

This has Theon twitch. He opens one eye and smirks when he takes in Jon's impatient glare.

"Morning. Anything the matter?"

Jon snorts.

"Yes. Hungry. Please, please, please, go and tell my squire - what's his name by the way? I only know the other one's is Jason."

Theon rolls onto his back, then sits up. He stretches thoroughly and chuckles. 

"Alfrid. Wants to be called Alfie. Stupid name, if you ask me," he concludes with a sneer. "Anything in particular today?"

Jon shrugs. 

"Food. Plenty of food. I'll leave the rest up to you."

Theon leans over, brushing his lips lightly over Jon's.

"Be right back."

Jon lies down again. All this kissing and everything - it's almost too easy getting used to it. He can hear Theon mumbling something to whichever squire he caught, then he comes back. Jon squints at him. 

"We have about ten minutes, yes?"

Theon smirks, showing no sign of lying down himself. Instead he clambers onto the bed, legs bracketing Jon's hips. 

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining - but don't you think you've done enough?"

Jon looks up with a frown.

"It'll never be enough."

Theon's expression is hard to describe. It's a mix between tenderness, annoyance and hurt, he's probably thinking back to that day and Jon's guts clench in anguish. They stare at each other for a long while, neither daring to say or do something. Then, with a heavy sigh, Theon opens his mouth. Of course that's when the knock comes and he sighs again, sliding off the bed to get the door. 

He comes back with a tray carrying a large bowl of fruit, another bowl, probably stew, and a plate of cakes. Honey cakes, Jon realizes with a jolt. He hasn't forgotten what Theon had said about those. Jon rushes to get to the table and reaches for the stew. Theon slides it out of his reach and Jon growls. 

"What are you doing?"

Theon dips the spoon in the bowl and stirs, looking thoughtful.

"I want to try something. Let me serve you. Maybe you'll get back into that king thing when you are treated like one again."

Jon looks at him in disbelief.

"First, you're not going to feed me with a _spoon_ , I'm the Summer King, not a fucking One-year-old. And second, why on earth would you want me to be _him_ again?"

There's a long silence following his words until Theon finally answers.

"You can't hide here for the rest of the summer. In five weeks it's midsummer and you need to play your part."

Jon drops his head. Theon's right. But he wants to stay here, in the relative safety of their bubble, so badly. And...

"What if I lose control again? What if he hurts you again? I don't think..."

He trails off. Theon reaches out, takes his hand. 

"Would you believe me if I told you it's okay? When I know what's coming - it can be good for me too."

Jon shakes his head, curls flying around his face.

"I don't believe you," he says pointedly.

Theon chuckles, then sighs again. He's sighing a lot these days, Jon notes with slight worry. At least he's not crying anymore. Theon's voice sounds strange.

"Eat now. We'll talk about it later."

Jon's already angling for the stew, greedily shoveling it in. Nothing to talk about in his eyes. There's nothing Theon could say or do to make Jon believe _that_. After eating half of the delicious stew he looks at Theon questioningly, but he shakes his head. 

"Go ahead. I'm good with the apples. And maybe a cake."

Jon finishes the bowl, then reaches for the plate of cakes, but Theon catches his wrist.

"No. Me this time."

If Jon would be honest with himself, he might admit that it actually is nice being treated like that. As it is he grumbles, but doesn't move away when Theon holds the first cake out to him. Jon means to just take a bite, but Theon pushes the whole cake inside Jon's mouth, so he has no other choice but to close his lips around Theon's fingers.

Theon's small gasp makes Jon shiver. This is certainly not working like Theon thought. It doesn't make Jon want to be the king again. It only makes him want.

"More," he whispers. 

The movement is repeated and this time Jon purposefully sucks on Theon's fingers, making him moan. Theon pulls back, eyes dark. He drags Jon to his feet and kisses him deeply.

"Come to bed. I want to show you something."

Theon gently coaxes Jon onto his back, then slots his body over Jon's. His skin is warm and there are so many places where he's touching him, Jon can't possibly keep count. All of it feels amazing, Theon's hands roaming over Jon's body, his mouth trailing hot kisses and licks down his throat, the look in Theon's eyes when he grinds his hips into Jon's, the low moans he emits when Jon repeats the motion himself, fingers digging into Theon's back.

Jon wants to slide down, wants to take Theon with his mouth again, but instead of complying Theon slides two fingers back into Jon's mouth, just like before. Jon sucks them in, the sensation so familiar yet different. Theon pulls his fingers back. He kisses Jon, claims his mouth, rougher this time.

Then he moves lower, licking a burning trail down Jon's stomach. Jon is lost in his touches, shivering over and over, unable to stop himself from moaning quietly. When Theon's mouth closes over his length Jon cries out. _This_. This is so much better than what the king did that first evening - Jon thrusts up into Theon's mouth, trying to stop himself from exploding.

His mind starts reeling when suddenly he feels something gently nudging at his backside, soft, slick fingers rubbing against his hole. He gasps.

"Theon..."

Theon's voice sounds strained. 

"Do you trust me?"

There's only one answer, despite everything.

"Yes."

And how couldn't he? Everything Theon has done to him since Jon has been chosen has brought him nothing but pleasure. 

Theon swallows him down again. At the same time he slides a slick finger into Jon. Jon bites his lip to keep himself from screaming out. It feels strange, intrusive - a second finger joins the first, both slowly moving in and out and Jon's hands clutch the furs at his sides. This is... Then he does scream, when Theon curls his fingers and presses against something that has Jon arching his back in sweet agony. 

It is too much, he can't keep himself from spilling, crying out Theon's name as he does. Theon keeps sucking him through it, gently removing his fingers. When he comes up to kiss Jon there are no thoughts left but one. _Yes. Oh gods, yes_.

When he's able to think straight again Jon curls into Theon's arms. 

"What about you?"

Theon chuckles softly.

"Nothing left to be done, Snow. You shouting my name... it was more than enough." 

His face turns serious.

"Do you believe me now?"

Jon frowns, momentarily confused.

"About what?"

"That it can be good for me too when you fuck me. All that's needed is preparation, oil and that one spot deep inside a man that gives so much pleasure when touched."

Jon thinks about it. 

"I think maybe I _could_. Believe it. How do you know all that?"

Theon grins.

"When I started to - some time ago I started to get curious about what I'd have to do to cause another man pleasure. So I went and asked Ros."

Jon nods thoughtfully. Ros, of course. Theon's favourite whore. 

"She was a good teacher it seems. Theon - was it me you thought of? Back then?"

It's quiet for so long Jon thinks Theon has fallen asleep. He's halfway out himself when the answer finally comes.

"Two years ago. That's when I realized. I don't know how long it's been there before without me recognizing it for what it was. I always felt strange around you. I tried to hide it. Remember that day we got that ice wine from the Vale? You drank too much and Lord Stark told me to bring you back to your room. And I did, and you were laughing, your cheeks red, you were leaning against me... I put you in bed and you smiled, you pulled me down with your arms around my neck and whispered, 'Thank you, Theon'. The way your hair brushed my face, the smell of your skin, how my name sounded from your lips... I thought I was burning alive. You fell asleep and I pulled the furs over you and left. I tried to get you out of my head, I hated you for how much I wanted you. I grew angrier and angrier every day, until Robb couldn't bear my moods anymore and pried it out of me. It helped, talking to him. I told him everything. And how could I've ever told you? The way I treated you... And then your name was drawn and I just _knew_..."

He trails off. Jon isn't moving, carefully breathing in and out. Theon's arms tighten around his shoulders and a soft kiss is pressed to his head. Jon waits for Theon to say something else, but after a while his breathing gets deep and calm. When Jon cranes his head, he finds Theon asleep. He closes his eyes.

_I wish you'd told me. Maybe I would've been able to love you, then._

 


	12. Chapter 12

It's another two days later when Jon finally feels ready to try going outside again. Two days full of wonderful touches and deep kisses. Two days of Jon pretending he hasn't heard what Theon has said, and Theon pretending he hasn't said anything at all.

Theon smoothes down Jon's tunic, ties his hair back. The hair has been Theon's idea, a surefire way to distinguish between Jon and the king. They've practiced it a fair amount of time, with Theon tying and untying his hair again and again, needling him into being the king, telling him the nastiest things, what will happen to him, how the people will shout for his death. Afterwards Theon always needs a moment alone. He never tells Jon where he goes.

Jon closes his eyes. It's been getting easier and easier to switch, although maybe it's not really a conscious decision. Now it only takes the feeling of the tight pull of a ribbon on the back of his head for the king to take over, like a signal to his brain. Likewise, when the knot loosens and his hair tumbles back around his face, Jon feels like himself again. 

He opens his eyes and sees Greyjoy flinching back involuntarily. A wide smile creeps onto the king's lips and he grabs his shirt, kisses him, not gentle and shy like Jon would, hard and biting down on soft, yielding lips. Without further ado he turns, not even looking if Greyjoy follows. 

 

The hall is buzzing with people and for a moment the king's step falters. Then Robb is at his side, bowing then hissing in his ear.

"Father is leaving for Last Hearth."

The king nods his thanks. He watches the traveling party get ready, bids Lord Stark farewell with an indifferent wave. When the Lord has finally left the king smiles at the few left behind. 

"I'm in the mood for a nice, cosy family dinner tonight. You." He looks directly at Lady Stark. "Arrange that for me."

She hasn't looked at him even once since he's entered the hall. Now she curtsies and leaves as quickly as she can without actually running. The king sighs, satisfied, and turns to Robb. 

"Have you fully recovered?"

Robb nods.

"You'll sit with me tonight after I've sent Sansa to bed. You'll do everything I tell you to. Now, I feel like taking a long, nice soak in the pools. I am not to be disturbed."

Again Robb nods, apprehension in his gaze. The king watches him bow, then smiles at Robb's submissive stance. He turns to leave, calling back over his shoulder.

"Greyjoy."

At the pools the king halts, waits for Greyjoy to catch up with him. He lets himself be undressed, then sinks into the hot water. It feels heavely. He cranes his head. Greyjoy is waiting to the side, probably for another command. Well - the king doesn't like to disappoint.

"Come on. I feel a little stiff from not moving much these last days."

Greyjoy complies, getting rid of his clothes, and lets himself glide into the water. He moves to sit behind the king and starts kneading his shoulders. _Wonderful_... The king lets his head sink back. He starts when he feels Greyjoy's hands wander up his neck to his hair.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The hands come to a halt, just underneath the knot, but a hot mouth is pressed to the king's neck.

"I'm sorry, my king. It's just - this place. I often thought of Jon when being here on my own, wishing he was there. I wish he was here now."

The king curls his lips. He sounds like a starry-eyed maiden. Ridiculous. And still. There's that strange feeling again that the king has come to associate with being around Greyjoy.

"Go ahead," he sighs in defeat.

Deft fingers open the knot and card through his tangled hair and Jon sighs, relaxing back into the touch.

"You can't do this all the time now, you know? Just because you wished I was there some time ago."

Theon doesn't answer, just wraps his arms around Jon and pulls him closer. His hands stroke Jon's chest, his mouth brushes Jon's nape and he shivers despite the warmth of the water. 

"Fuck me, Jon."

Jon turns around without thinking and his mouth is immediately seized. Finally he's able to break free, gasping for air. 

"Where did that come from just now?"

"He'll want me tonight. You know he probably will. That's fine. But. I'd rather you fucked me first. Please, Jon," Theon says. "Please give me this to hold on to."

"I can't. I'm not - this is not who I am. But he won't hurt you, Theon. I promise."

Theon hides his disappointment in the crook of Jon's neck. Jon shifts a bit, trying to get into a comfortable position in Theon's lap. It's not easy, Theon is hard.

His cock nudges at Jon's arse again and again and Jon bites his lip, coming to a decision. They don't have the oil with them but he's had his own fingers up there often enough those last days since Theon has shown him the pleasure coming from there, usually when he was having trouble sleeping, Theon lost in his nightmares besides him.

Jon reaches beneath himself, raises his hips. Theon gasps when Jon takes hold of his cock, his eyes going wide when Jon guides it to his hole. It still hurts some, but Jon doesn't care. It'll feel good soon enough. 

Theon's head falls forward, comes to rest against Jon's shoulder. He's trembling all over as Jon slowly sinks down onto him. Jon strokes the damp hair on his nape and Theon looks up. He's crying again, but this time Jon isn't annoyed by it. He understands.

Theon fits inside him as if Jon was made for this. He can't remember anything that felt so right, ever. The way he fills him up, as if they're welded together into one single being. Jon feels like crying too. 

"This is what I can give you," he says and starts moving.

Theon's hands are stroking his back, he leans his forehead against Jon's and searches for his mouth. His kiss is urgent, hard, and Jon moans against his mouth. Theon rolls his hips and Jon breaks away from his lips. His head falls back and he gasps. Theon's hot mouth is on his throat in a heartbeat, licking, biting, sucking.

"Jon... so tight... so beautiful... my Jon..."

Jon presses harder against him at those words, wanting to be even closer. His heart is beating so fast he fears it will jump out of his chest. He could stay like this forever, his body and mind being filled with nothing but Theon. 

"I love you."

It has Jon still, move back a fraction. He looks at Theon in shock. _This can't be happening, he can't..._ He gasps when Theon holds him even tighter, moves faster in him and like that Jon spills, whispering Theon's name, helplessly searching for his mouth.

He kisses him deeply, trying to pour everything he's not going to say into that kiss. 

_I'm dead. I shouldn't allow you to be close, shouldn't allow you to say things like that, but gods help me if I were free to love... I can't, Theon. I'm dead._

Theon comes then, buried deep inside Jon, making a strange, choked sound that makes Jon want to rip his skin off. Theon looks into Jon's face and smirks, despite his wet eyes.

"Don't worry, Snow. I know it's not how you feel about me. How could it be? But please, please don't send me away. Let me be with you along the way."

How could he deny him that? Even if what comes will be a hundred times worse... Jon nods.

 

The king is silent as Greyjoy dresses him. They walk back to the Great Keep in silence. It's only early afternoon, but the king doesn't want to go back to his chambers. He's feeling restless. Behind him Greyjoy clears his throat. The king turns and regards him with mild annoyance.

"What now? Getting ready for another round of bawling?"

Greyjoy stiffens, the king is pleased to see. 

"I beg your pardon, my king. You said some time ago you wanted to practice archery..?"

The king contemplates that for a second. As good a way to make time go by as any. He shrugs. 

"Have the squires get everything ready."

They work on the king's technique all afternoon until the sun begins to set and the king can hardly draw the bowstring anymore. Greyjoy instructs the squires to have a washing bowl brought to the king's chambers. He readies the king for dinner, and the king watches him in silence. When he's finally done, the king frowns. 

"Get yourself presentable. You're going to accompany me. You're going to eat, you're going to talk to them. You're not going to interfere with anything I'm doing."

Greyjoy nods, getting himself ready as quick as he can. Together they enter the hall where the raised table is ready laid. Sansa and Robb are waiting. Both get up when the king joins them. He takes Lord Stark's usual seat, asks Sansa to sit in her mother's place. Greyjoy sits besides Robb, after a questioning look at the king.

When Lady Stark arrives she pauses at the seating arrangement, then goes to sit beside Robb. The king shakes his head.

"Oh no, mylady. After our little... mishap... I don't think I can trust you around your son anymore. Best you go and sit there."

He nods at a single laid place at the lower tables. She turns to him, fuming. But when she opens her mouth, Robb speaks up.

"Mother. Just... go."

The king raises his eyebrows in delighted surprise. This is going better than he imagined. With a look at Sansa who's not looking back, Lady Stark moves down. The king wishes there was a painter in Winterfell. Lady Catelyn Stark, sitting at the lower benches where the bastard had to sit on her orders. This is too good.

The rest of the meal goes pleasantly enough. The king concentrates entirely on Sansa, gently teasing her about her needlework and her love for cakes. After a rocky start Greyjoy and Robb seem to have found their feet again, just now Robb is laughing at some joke.

Finally it's time and the king asks his squire to see Sansa to her chamber. She goes willingly enough, kissing Robb's cheek then hesitating for a second before kissing the king too. Sansa had never kissed Jon goodnight. The king looks after her for a moment before deciding it's time for his next blow.

"Lady Stark... I think you can join us now, seeing as Robb won't be sitting at the table anymore."

Lady Stark moves over quietly, glowering at the king when she sits down at his side. Robb looks at the king expectantly. The king smiles.

"Why don't you come and sit at my feet? It's the perfect place for our little lordling."

 


	13. Chapter 13

The king has changed his mind. _This_ is the painting he would really want. Lady Stark, too shocked to glare at him, Robb, trembling bravely as he settles on the floor and rests his head against the king's thigh like a good little puppy, all on his own accord, Greyjoy looking at the king like - 

The king turns away from Greyjoy. His stupid hurt look is spoiling the picture a bit and the king hates it when his gut squirms the way it only does for him. He feigns being absentminded while petting Robb's curls, but the king actually has a hard time not unlacing then and there to just let the lordling...

Instead he grabs a plate of candied rose petals and offers it to Lady Catelyn. She looks like she's going to be sick, shakes her head. Jon whines in the king's head. The king pauses. _Shut up_ , he thinks. _This is what you wanted. Give her an actual reason to hate you, deserve it for being an asshole, not just because of the circumstances of your birth_.

"No? Aw... I bet you want some, don't you, Robb?"

The king takes a few petals in his hand, holding them out to Robb.

"Be a good boy, open your mouth. There you go."

Robb eats the petals out of the king's hand and the king has to repress a smile, and a moan. He said to him he should do anything he's told, but this... the heir of Winterfell could easily join a mummers troupe. His acting skills are impressive. Besides the king Lady Stark is holding onto her goblet so hard the king thinks it might explode any second.

Jon is sorry, he's so sorry, he means no harm to any of them, he would never hurt his siblings, he doesn't want to have her say she's always been right about him, he wants to say it - 

The king growls inwardly. _One more word of you and I'll give you something to be sorry about. Don't you think your precious bedwarmer needs another good going-over?_

No answer. He grins. _Now the big finish - the final nail to her coffin._ He gets up.

"Come, little lord. Let's make you scream so loud your father hears it on the road."

Lady Catelyn actually cries out at the king's words. Robb seems surprisingly composed, raises from the floor with such grace the king feels his dick harden considerably. Jon is quiet in his head, maybe finally getting who's in charge now. The king smiles at Lady Stark.

"I think your chambers would be ideal, don't you think, mylady? If you don't want to sleep there after - well, Jon's little bastard chamber is unoccupied I believe."

He doesn't get a reply, and really, he's not expecting one. Greyjoy is still sitting at his place, staring at the king with an intensity... Better put him in his place, too.

"Go and warm my bed, bedwarmer. Don't wait up, I won't have much left for you."

Greyjoy bows, his eyes burning. The king has to look away again. Too much. He snaps his fingers at Robb. He follows him obediently, no questions, no objections. He almost seems... The king shakes his head. Unlikely. But when they reach Lord and Lady Stark's chambers the king has barely time to close the door that Robb's lips are on his, taking him by surprise.

"Finally," he breathes against the king's mouth. 

 _He wants it!_ The king feels nearly shocked at that, but then he laughs in triumph, turns them and presses the lordling against the door. He sneers.

"Is everyone in this castle a fucking deviant? You, Greyjoy, Jon..."

Robb laughs shakily.

"Look who's speaking."

The king rakes his hands over Robb's chest, revels in the hitched curse it draws from him.

"I am the king. I do what I want."

He claims his mouth again, rough, more a bite than a kiss, but Robb moans, his eyes falling shut in rapture. His hands slide over the king's hips, up to his shoulders, his neck and into his hair...

The king is too caught up in those touches, he realizes the danger only when it's too late. His hair comes tumbling down around his face and Jon starts back with a jump. _Wrong!_  He stares at Robb who stares back, unable to comprehend what is happening.

"Robb - what the - fuck!!!"

Jon wipes his mouth furiously, feels the blood drain from his face, feels his dick wilting so rapidly it nearly makes him faint. And now Robb is reaching for him, a soft, longing look in his blue eyes that makes Jon want to cry - but this isn't who - what he wants. He stumbles back.

"Robb, please stop that, I can't, you're not - I don't want you like that!"

Robb's hands fall to his side, confusion clear on his face.

"You don't - then what was that just now?"

"Not me," Jon whispers, and then he flees, from his Lord father's chambers, from the shame, from the shocked hurt on Robb's face.

 

Jon runs through the halls, nearly blinded by his tears. He doesn't know where his feet take him until he finds himself in the Godswood. He throws himself down at the roots of the weirwood tree, praying to the Old Gods, the New Gods, even Theon's Drowned God. He prays for forgiveness, from them, from Robb, Theon, even Lady Catelyn - especially Lady Catelyn, prays for this hell to end. 

Like every time when the king has been there for a longer period Jon feels a part of himself has dissolved. He feels thin, stretched, exhausted. He needs -  _someone_ \- to hold him, but he can't bring himself to go to his chambers. Jon sobs at the thought of him. Somehow it makes things even worse. He _needs_ him, doesn't want to need him, can't allow himself to need him. Curled up under the heart tree he falls into an uneasy sleep.

 

It's Sansa who finds him there in the morning. He looks at her startled face. 

"Shit," he says, then flushes bright red. "I mean, sorry, ah..."

She smirks.

"Calm down, Jon. It's just me."

He cracks a lopsided grin.

"What happened to 'my king'?"

She snorts. Proper little Lady Sansa actually snorts.

"You're not my king. You're my brother."

She kneels down beside him.

"You look like a little boy with your red eyes and smeared cheeks. Let's get you a bit cleaned up, hm?"

She pulls an embroidered handkerchief from an invisible pocket of her dress and dips it into the nearby water. Jon lets her clean his face. She's gentle, though tutting at him all the while for being such a silly boy. Finally she's satisfied.

"There. Now you look like the Summer King again."

Jon smiles at her smug face.

"Thank you, Sans." He frowns. "What were you doing here at this ungodly hour?"

"Praying."

"Wouldn't you go into the Sept for that? Your mother-"

She gets up, towering over him. 

"I'm Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, and we keep the Old Gods."

Her voice sounds proud, her blue eyes sparkle and for a moment Jon can see it, the woman she'll be someday. It makes him sad that he won't be there to get to know her. He clambers to his feet. Sansa frowns and starts patting his clothes to remove the dirt.

Jon smiles.

"Thank you, again. Now I'll go and try to be the guy you like so much again."

She sighs.

"You do that. I do like being the Summer King's lady. He's... very good-looking and galant. It's like a fairytale, of knights and fair maidens..."

She blushes, then her face grows serious.

"But, Jon - don't think I am in any way happy that you - you'll..."

Sansa doesn't finish her sentence, but Jon understands. Sansa opens her arms and he hugs her, maybe for the first time, just himself. She smiles.

"Try to be happy, Jon. At least for the time you have left. Better than not being really happy, ever, don't you think?" Her smile becomes teasing and she curtsies. "Don't leave me waiting too long. My king."

He leaves her under the red crown of the weirwood tree, his little sister, for the first and maybe the last time.

 

Jon searches his pockets for a string, a cord, anything he can use to tie his hair back. No such luck and he knows he has to go there, has to face him if he doesn't want to spend the day hiding in the crypts or something like that. For reasons he doesn't entirely understand - or doesn't want to understand, Jon is nervous, afraid even.

What he'll say to Jon when he shows up now, unmistakably Jon, not the king. What he thinks has happened last night. Jon's stomach churns and he scolds himself for being so stupid. What can Theon say to him about all that? He's got no right - Jon sighs.

What Theon said the day before - maybe he has every right. Jon swallows dryly. It's just - he wants to hear him say it again. Even if he cannot allow himself to feel the same. His stupid heart flutters at the thought. Too late, he thinks wistfully. It's already happened. Sansa's voice echoes in his head. _Be happy_. Jon hastens his steps.

He ignores his squires as he shuffles past them, hoping they don't notice any difference. His heart is beating fast and he feels guilty for not coming sooner. Theon is sitting at the table, a plate of breakfast before him. It's untouched. Jon quietly leans against the door, wants nothing more than to go to him. Theon doesn't look up, his voice sounds flat.

"I hope you're happy, both of you. If you want me to leave, make space for him-"

Jon means to laugh. It turns into a choked sob on the way to his mouth. This has Theon look up. His eyes are red and with a few quick paces Jon has crossed the room and clambers onto his lap, wraps his arms around him as tightly as he can.

"I couldn't. I wouldn't. Robb wanted me - I think, but then I was myself and my first thought was, I do not want  _him_. Theon-"

He interrupts himself to clumsily kiss Theon's ear. Theon isn't moving at all. Jon pants, a bit out of breath. 

"And maybe the king wants him but _fuck_ the king, _I_ only want... Theon, I - I'm your Jon."

Theon shudders out a breath, his body relaxes in Jon's embrace. His arms wrap around Jon's waist. Jon moves back to get a better look at him. Theon is smiling so much his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

"You are?" 

Jon doesn't answer, he holds on tight. In his head someone is roaring with laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sap I can't help myself there -.-


	14. Chapter 14

"Do you intend to stay in bed again all day? Not that I'm complaining, but it's time for dinner."

Jon refuses to open his eyes, he just huffs and squeezes them shut even more tightly.

"Go away. Or no, don't go away. Fuck me again."

He can hear Theon chuckle above him, but he obligingly slumps down onto Jon.

"Aren't you sore by now? I know I am."

Jon snorts derisively.

"All that Ironborn talk all the time and you're worn out after a couple of fucks."

Theon glides into him with ease and Jon moans softly. Theon is covering his whole body and Jon feels warm and comfortable and cherished.

"A couple, Snow? I thought you learned how to count a while ago. And five is not a couple."

"Shut up! Harder!"

Theon complies, picking up speed as good as he can in his position, which isn't much.

"If you want it any harder you'd have to turn around. I could lift your legs onto my shoulders like before. You seemed to like that."

Jon rocks his arse back into Theon's thrusts.

"I liked it. I like this too."

Theon nips at his ear.  
"Good thing I'm not intending to stop then, isn't it?"

"Jerk."

"Greedy bastard."

Jon smiles into the pillow. Somewhere between 'my king' and 'my Jon' Theon seems to have found back to his usual self. The only difference is - Jon doesn't feel mocked, or treated badly. He just feels wanted, welcome, maybe for the first time.  
  
When Theon gets him ready for dinner, the king ponders the latest developments. He's curious as to how the others will react to him today, after yesterday's... shenanigans.

The king is still pissed at Jon for thwarting his game with Robb. Jon's a strong man. Stronger than he gives himself credit for. But the king is pretty sure he'll wrestle him into complete submission sooner or later.

"Do I have to come too?"

The question startles the king and he raises an eyebrow.  
"Sick of my company already?"

Greyjoy sighs.  
"I just... I don't want to watch. Whatever'll happen with you and Robb."

Jon surges forward and kisses Theon, tries to kiss away the pain in his voice.   
The king recoils, shocked by that sudden outburst. Jon just took over without prompting. He can't have that.

"You'll come. You'll watch."

He grits his teeth, tries to focus on his hate, all the hurtful words Greyjoy has spat at Jon, the belittling, the name calling - he finds nothing. There's no hate left. Not for Greyjoy.

Without another word he turns and leaves. At the table he lets himself fall down with an angry huff, then nearly screams out. To the deepest of the seven hells with Jon and his strange desires!

Sansa sends her friend Jeyne to apologize. Apparently she's got a headache. The king nods and dismisses the girl with well-wishes for Sansa. Jeyne giggles and runs out to deliver them.

When Lady Catelyn cautiously approaches, the king waves her to his side. She takes her seat silently, not looking at him. The king waits. For Greyjoy to follow his command, for Robb to appear.

They arrive together, though not talking to each other. Greyjoy is tense, the king can see it in the way he walks, not meeting his eyes when he sits down. Robb seems to be brimming with excitement, though the king has no idea what he has to be excited about.

It becomes clear very soon. Robb's eyes are fixed on the king throughout the whole dinner. He moans softly at every bite he takes, licks and bites his lips so much they’re starting to swell, sucks cream from his fingers with an expression of utter abandon.

The king watches with amusement. Someone really wants to convey their wishes it seems. Of course it has the desired effect and until dessert the king has to hold on to the table to stay put. Robb drops his spoon.

"Oh no!"

The next second he's under the table and the king raises an eyebrow as he feels a hand sneaking up his leg. Greyjoy stares at the king. Lady Catelyn must've noticed what's going on too, she's pale. The king almost feels pity for her. It's one thing, making her hate him for something he deserves.

But watching her perfect son turn into such a lewd thing, unashamed of even her presence... Jon whines in the king's head and for once the king doesn't feel like shushing him. The hand has made it up to his crotch and fingers are dragged over his cock, hard beneath the fabric. One moment longer, the king thinks, then he'll end this spectacle.

Take him out to the stables and fuck him into the hay, give him what he's apparently so desperate for. Or right here, bent over the table, here in the Great Hall for all the servants to see. He wouldn't object, the king is sure. A soft sound has him turn to the side and the look Lady Catelyn gives him is not the one he's anticipated.

Her eyes are wide and she's grown even paler, but she doesn't glare, doesn't look hateful. She just looks like she's hurting, like she can't understand why, and it happens before the king can stop it.

Jon stares back at her and she must notice the change, her breath catches. His voice is pleading when he whispers,  
"I'm not going to hurt him, mylady. I swear to you I'm not going to hurt him. Please - please leave. You don't have to watch him be like that."

For a moment she just looks at him in shock.

"Thank you," she finally manages before hastily leaving.

Jon tries to hold onto himself but then his breeches are unlaced and the king growls, unable to rein in his anger. You little bastard! He bites back a shout when he feels wet heat engulfing him, all of him, all at once. His head falls back. What a talented boy, so good, so eager…

When he spills he thinks he hears a cry somewhere — inside? — then silence.   
A loud noise has the king open his eyes and what he sees amuses him to no end. Greyjoy has dragged Robb out from under the table. He looks furious.

"Why would you do that???"

Robb's gaze is defiant, his cheeks red.   
"Because he wanted me! I want him!"

"Where did this come from? I've been talking to you about Jon for years and you know how I - what I - that I-" He pants. “Fuck you, Stark! You never wanted him before and now you go and throw yourself at that - that asshole there -

 _Aw_. The king smiles at the cute insult. Robb doesn't intend to back down it seems.

"I love him too! Why are you so... so... Why can't I have a piece of Jon as well?"

"THIS ISN'T JON!"

Robb jumps a little at the vehemence in Greyjoy's tone, he turns to face the king.  
"Jon, what is he talking about?"

The king smiles.  
"What he said. I'm not Jon. Jon doesn't want you. But don't despair, little lordling. _I_ want you and nothing Prince Greyjoy over there can say or do will change that."

With one step Greyjoy has reached the king and rips the string out of his hair. The king looks up at him with mild reproach.

"I fear Jon has taken a little leave of absence for now. You'll have to make do with me."

Greyjoy is in shock. It's almost funny how he stares and stares, slack-jawed like a halfwit. But the king feels gracious right now. And - there’s that feeling again. The feeling of something strange around Greyjoy.

"Why don't we go and find a nice place where I can fuck you, hm? See? No need to be jealous. There's plenty of me for the both of you. Go on, get what you need."

For a moment it looks as if Greyjoy were to protest, then he nods and leaves.

"Jon..."  
Robb's voice is unsteady, confused. The king rolls his eyes.

"Didn't you listen? I'm not him. Now go and think about what you've done, and please... Not in front of your Lady Mother. I don't want to risk Jon acting out because he's too weak to stomach her hurt feelings. Really, I don’t know what she’ll have to do to him to make him hate her. Not even her obvious joy when his name was drawn seems to have done the trick."

Robb stares at him.

“You can’t mean it. She wasn’t happy at all, she was as shocked as we all were. Jon-”

The king throws his arms up in exasperation.   
“You don’t get it, huh? Not. Jon.”

With that he leaves, looking for Greyjoy. As the king has thought, he's waiting in the king's chambers, naked and ready, down on all fours. The king looks at him, smiling.

"Oh no, not like this. Jon doesn't like it when I hurt you and I'd rather stay myself for the time being. Better not do anything to coax him out."

Greyjoy sits back, his face a picture of confusion.  
"Then what, my king?"

"First you'll undress me. Have you forgotten your duties, my sweet bedwarmer?"

Greyjoy scrambles to his feet and helps the king out of his clothes.

"I'm to stay?"

He sounds disbelieving, his voice shaky. The king snorts.

"Why of course! Thought you would be replaced? Again? I thought I made that clear. I want you. Maybe not like Jon, but I do. Did before him. Now, by the way."

The king makes to lie down on his back, against the pillows. Greyjoy looks at him, blinking in utter confusion.

"What... what?"

The king chuckles.   
"Come on. I'm not in the mood to wait until you come around. Do what you have to do to make it good for you too."

He feels his mouth twitch, tries to repress a softer smile. He wants him to like it.  
When Greyjoy doesn't move the king sighs and leans forward, grabbing his neck and dragging him against his mouth. Greyjoy yelps in surprise but goes slack immediately, melts into the kiss.

The king growls in appreciation and draws him into his lap. Greyjoy's lips are not leaving the king's when he glides down onto his cock. The king groans. This feels perfect, perfect… He cannot help the gasp escaping his throat. Suddenly it’s too much and when their eyes meet the realisation dawns on him.

"Fuck... love this.. you..."


	15. Chapter 15

The king is staring at Greyjoy, who sports the same shocked expression the king can feel on his own face. He blinks.

“Was that - Jon?”

  
For a moment the king searches his head for an answer, a sigh, a whine, anything. Nothing. Jon is not there. Slowly he shakes his head. Greyjoy’s face contorts, he swallows hard.

Suddenly the king can’t bear it anymore, with one quick move he has him on his back. He bends down to kiss Greyjoy and after a moment of surprise he kisses the king back.

The king rolls his hips without breaking the kiss and a jolt drives through Gr- it won’t do anymore, to call him that, the king thinks dizzily - Theon and he breaks away, cries out. The king stills, cautious.

“Am I hurting you?”

Theon shakes his head.

“No, go on. My king. It’s… it’s good.”

The king laughs, a relieved sound, his hand takes hold of Theon and starts stroking him.

Theon’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are hooded. His moans are the most beautiful sound the king has ever heard. He wants to die like this, buried inside him like this, feeling warm like this.

He wants him so much, has wanted him from the moment he realized he could have him, now that he is what he is. It must’ve been there a while, for Jon at least. Why hadn’t he caught on? They could have had so much time…

A growl conceals a cry and the king shudders and goes still, gaze still drowning in Theon’s. He moves his hand one more time as he pulls back, and Theon does cry out when he spills, warm and somehow familiar.

When the king gets his breath back, he has to ask.

“Was it good?”

Theon smiles, a lazy, satisfied smile.

“It was good. Thank you, my king.”

The king knows he should laugh, or mock him, or even snap at him. But not right now. Now he props himself up on one elbow and places a hand on Theon’s chest, thinking how he can say what he has to say.

“I’m still going to fuck him, you know? Because I can, and because I can without hurting him like I hurt you. Because he wants it, And because I can hurt her.”

Theon has turned his face away but now he looks at the king in disbelief.

“You’re going to fuck Robb to get back at Lady Stark - for what exactly? I think she’s been punished enough already.”

The king huffs angrily.

“For being happy that Jon’s name was drawn. For sending his siblings away without giving him the chance to say goodbye.” He narrows his eyes. “For trying to poison me.”

“Well…” Theon frowns. “To be honest, it was better that way. Not the poisoning, the children. Imagine the ruckus Arya would have caused if she’d been allowed to see you one more time. And - I’m sorry, my king, but it’s also better for them. Hey…” He sits up a little. “Maybe Jon could write to them, to say goodbye. I’m sure Lady Stark won’t refuse him that.” His face is serious, but tender. “My king. She’s a good mother. Not to Jon, not to me. But to her children, who love Jon and whom Jon has always loved..”

The king says nothing. He can’t let go of his hate. What’s left if not hating her?   
Theon seems to catch on.

“Hate me if you must hate someone. Remember - I hate you.”

But he says it with a smile. The king kisses him again, lingers for a moment against his mouth.

“I know.” He feels himself getting hard again. He reaches for Theon, stops himself. “May I?”

Theon laughs then, rolling them over so he’s on top of the king.

“Of course, my king. Whatever you want.”

  
The king cannot sleep. The day replays in his head, over and over again. Robb, Lady Catelyn, Theon, Jon. He feels uncomfortable. Now that Jon is gone - he wanted him gone so desperately, wanted to take over completely. But now he doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that Jon seems to be really gone.

And stupid Greyjoy - Theon - with his stupid words. What use would the king be for Jon, if not to hate, if not to make people hate him? So far it hasn’t worked out well. Robb suddenly wants him, Sansa has a crush on him, Lady Catelyn has always hated him and Theon - the king sighs. Not even Theon hates him, it seems, not even after everything that went down.

The king makes a decision. He’ll leave. He’ll let Jon be himself. He won’t go too far, will wait until it’s time, time to take over for the last moments.   
There’s one thing left to do for him though. Before he leaves. He has to talk to them.

It would be sensible to start with Theon, seeing as he’s already here, sleeping next to the king. It’s an uneasy sleep, he’s tossing and turning. He’s saying Jon’s name a lot.

The king watches him. He has no idea what about Theon has caused him to soften so considerably, to feel all of a sudden. No. Theon last.

That’s what Jon would do. Save the best for last. That’s what he always did, always starting with the least, always sure someone else will want the best and admonish him for taking it. And more often than not he was right.

Maybe unnecessarily, who knows? The king is pretty certain Robb would’ve let Jon have the best piece of meat, the neater sword, the friend Jon had been craving for since he came here. If he’d only known Jon wanted it. But Jon never said a word and so Robb always took the best.

No one can blame him for this. Robb. The king gets up as silently as possible. With a last look at Theon he leaves, for Robb’s chambers. He’ll start with Robb.

It seems Robb isn’t able to sleep either. His door is unlocked and when the king lets himself in, Robb is sitting by the fire. He looks up.

“Jon? What do you want here?”

The king shakes his head.

“Not Jon. Just me. I want to talk to you.”

He walks over and seats himself on the bed. Robb turns to him, an expectant look in his eyes. The king sighs.

“Why do you want Jon so much all of a sudden? You never showed any interest before. Not even any interest in men at all.”

Robb shrugs.

“I don’t know. When I came to your room that first night and was on my knees before you - I suddenly wanted nothing more than to do it. To touch you. I tried to forget it, I really did. But when you told me to sit at your feet…” He shudders. “The power you suddenly had over me - it was overwhelming.”

“Is that it then? You want to submit to someone? Anyone?” The king studies Robb’s beautiful, earnest face. “You’re hurting a lot of people with your behaviour. Your mother. Jon. Theon.” The king frowns. “He’s your best friend, Robb. He’s trusted you with his secret, and now you’re trying to take Jon away from him.”

Robb cries out.

“No! I thought - we could - both of us could be with you.”

The king shakes his head slowly.

“With me? Yes. With Jon? Never. He loves you. You’re his brother, his family. But Theon? He loves Jon for himself.”

Robb sniffs. 

“You really don’t want me then?”

“I do,” the king sighs. “But not Jon. Being with you - it would destroy him.”

Robb has gotten up, he comes closer, kneels before the king.

“Is that why you came? Because you want me? Is Jon really gone?” He shivers. “I cannot wrap my head around it. You look like Jon, your voice is Jon’s and yet you insist you’re not.”

He lays his head against the king’s thigh. The king strokes his hair.

“I can’t explain it. I did things Jon would never do. I did horrible, hateful things.” He sighs. “That’s why I’m leaving. Jon will be himself again and he won’t touch you. He won’t hate.”

Robb looks up at the king with wide eyes.

“Then stay this night. Just this once. Have me just this one time. I want it so much. Please, my king.”

His pleading is so very sweet… The king leans down and kisses him. He kisses him long, deep, passionate. Something in him stirs. The king breaks away, panting.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I have to go now.”

He rises from the bed, looks down at Robb. He looks utterly destroyed.

_Do it._

A resigned whisper in the king’s head. He stiffens. _Jon?_

_Just do it. He wants it so much._

The king laughs in relief. _Thought you were gone for good. Are you sure? About this?_

He can feel Jon’s sheepish smile.

_I’ve never been able to deny him anything. Go ahead. Until then…_

He’s gone again and the king wastes no time. With one step he’s back, back at Robb’s side. Robb looks up, eyes wet. The king smiles.

“Just this one time. Make the most of it.”

He takes him roughly, makes him do whatever comes to the king’s mind. And Robb is so pliant, so yielding, as if he was born to kneel, not to lead. It’s the most powerful the king has ever felt.

At dawn he leaves. Robb has fallen asleep, exhausted, with a smile.   
The king strides through Winterfell. Not many are awake at this hour, surely not her. But he has time. She’ll come sooner or later.

Lady Catelyn enters the sept early enough. The king is sure she hasn’t even broken her fast yet. When he steps out of the Stranger’s shadow she starts in surprise. For a while they stare at each other before she curtsies.

“My king. How unexpected to see you here.”

Her voice is cold, detached. The king smiles and she flinches.

“Only to talk, mylady.”

She sits down on a bench.  
“About what?”

“About me. You. Your children. Jon.”

She doesn’t answer, so he continues.

“You tried to poison me.”

“I’m not denying it.” Her voice is calm but her hands are trembling in her lap.

The king snorts.  
“I know there was never any love lost between you and Jon, but wasn’t that a little harsh? He’s going to burn in four months anyways.”

She flinches.  
“Four months in which he could do horrible things to my children.”

The king feels anger rise in him.

“I did nothing your children didn’t want. Sansa - I never touched her, I never would. Jon would never let me. And Robb…” He sighs. “I realize it must be hard for you. To know that he wants… this. Me. Jon. But I also know you, and you’ll love him all the same. It won’t happen again. I’m leaving, Jon will be himself again, and Jon does not want this.”

She looks at him, her gaze suddenly sad. He sighs.

“Could you do me a favor? Let Jon say his farewells to Arya, Bran and Rickon. Let him write to them. He loves his half-siblings very much and it kills him that he didn’t have the opportunity to see them one last time.”

“Of course. You - Jon - can do that whenever he wants. And I apologize. For having them brought away in such haste and secrecy.”

Her voice is stiff, but is has to be enough. Suddenly she smiles. The king is taken aback.

“Arya hates me for it. She thinks I’m happy about this. She’s behaving like a wild beast. My father is horrified with her behaviour.”

The king has to smile too. Arya, the little wolf. He wouldn’t have expected anything else. Then he frowns.

“Are you? Happy about this?”

Now Lady Catelyn looks into his eyes. They’re honest, the same blue as Robb’s.

“No. Yes. The first moment, when your - Jon’s - name was drawn… For a split second. Then it hit me. A boy of seventeen. My husband’s son. My children’s brother.” She gets up. “I’m sorry. I know how it must’ve looked.”

Lady Catelyn raises her hand, tentatively touches the king’s cheek. It’s the first time she’s touching him - Jon.

“I am not happy about this.”

With that she leaves, without looking back.

 

Sansa is the next on his list. The king hopes she’ll be at breakfast, but he’s alone. No Robb, no Lady Catelyn, no Sansa, no Theon. It’s fitting, somehow. The servants are chatting happily around him. Apparently Lord Stark will come back soon. The king shrugs. He has no business with Lord Stark.

Finally he has his little squire fetch Sansa for him. He waits for her in the Glass Gardens. When she arrives she curtsies and smirks.

“Have you finally remembered me, my king?”

The king smiles at that.   
“Apologies, mylady. Would you take a walk in the gardens with me?”

He takes her arm and they take up a slow pace between the summer flowers. The king fights with himself over what he’s going to say to her. It’s hard. He liked being her knight.

“You’re leaving.”

He looks at her in awe. How does she know? Sansa smiles at his astonishment.

“It’s not hard to figure out why you called for me, my king. I know I’m alone with that but - I’ll miss you.”

“You can still be his lady.” The king stops. He can’t believe he just said that. She doesn’t like Jon, has never liked Jon, why would she-

“I’d love to.”

The king turns to face her.  
  
“But…”

Sansa sighs.

“I know Jon and I were never close. And a great part of this is my fault. But even with Jon being Jon he’s still the Summer King, and I can still be his lady. If he’ll have me. My king…” She pauses, blushes. “Can I ask a favour of you? While it’s still you?”

“Of course, mylady. Anything.”

“Kiss me.”

He stares at her in shock. What is it about him that makes Jon’s siblings want such things? He’s about to ask her when she rolls her eyes.

“I’m fourteen years old. I want to know what it’s like. And I can’t very well ask Jon, he’s my brother. Same with Robb. And don’t even think of saying Theon.” Another smirk, she wrinkles her nose. “I want you to be my first kiss, my king.”

She closes her eyes.

Carefully, as if she’s a delicate flower, he obliges. It’s only a brush really, closed lips and chaste, but it’s sweet - maybe the only sweet thing the king has experienced in his short time.

When he moves back he can’t help but smile at her rapt expression. I wish I could be there, he thinks. To watch over her. To make sure she only ever experiences gentleness and love. It’ll be Robb’s duty to make sure of that.

They continue their turns through the gardens, and Sansa is livelier than he ever saw her. She chats of this and that and he listens, happy not to talk, enjoying the moment. When the Septa comes to get her to finish her needlework he nearly feels sad.

“Sansa?” he calls after her. She turns back with a questioning gaze. “Try not to mother Jon too much, will you?”

She laughs and places one hand over her heart.

“I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”

He stays in the gardens for a while. The next one, the last one, has his heart feel heavy in his chest. He thought he’s at peace with ceasing to exist, for the time being at least. But leaving him feels wrong now. Still. Better get it over with.

Knowing him pretty well by now, the king stops by the kitchens for some food before returning to his chambers. He smiles to himself when he enters and finds Theon sleeping, his arms wrapped around a pillow like he needs to hold on to something. His hair has fallen into his eyes and he’s drooling a little. The king sits at his side, brushes his hair back and kisses his forehead.

No need to wake him. No need to talk. He could never say what he wants to, anyway.   
_Jon?_ The king waits patiently and after an agonizing length of time the answer comes.

_Yes_.

_I’m leaving now. If you need me -_

Jon shakes his head, tries to clear it. _I hope I won’t,_ he thinks. _But if I need you, I know where to find you._


	16. Chapter 16

Jon looks down at Theon, still sleeping. Should he wake him? Jon would bet he hasn’t eaten anything all day again. It’s not that late, the sun hasn’t even set.

Theon mumbles something that sounds like, “Come back to bed, Snow.”  
That rather settles the matter. Jon flumps down onto Theon, ripping him out if his sleep with a startled yelp. He blinks at Jon, nose to nose with him.

“My-” He squints, blinks again. Jon waits, trying to repress a smile. Unexpectedly, Theon closes his eyes and moves his head a fraction. His kiss is careful, a question.

Jon meets him with eagerness, a laugh threatening to spill from his mouth into Theon’s. Theon pulls back, searches Jon’s face. His laugh is sudden, ringing in Jon’s ears while Theon grabs his tunic, drags him against his mouth again.

“You’re back.”

  
After convincing Theon rather thoroughly that it’s indeed him, Jon watches him eat his way through an impressive amount of food. Jon chuckles to himself. He feels like a weight has been lifted from him.

Like one should feel when it’s summer, when they’re young and carefree and in love. Jon knows what’s coming, he can’t forget it. But he can shove it to the back of his mind, can enjoy the time he’s got left.

Theon pauses halfway through a large pear. He swallows and smirks at Jon.

“What are you laughing at, Snow? Have I got something on my face?”

Jon shakes his head, smiling wider. Theon leans back.

“I think you smiled more since Beltane than since you’ve been born - or at least since I know you.”

“Strange, I know,” Jon muses. “What with all that happened… I feel happy.”

“That’s because I’m here, that’s totally obvious,” Theon teases. But his gaze is undeniably fond, and really, Jon thinks, he’s got a point.

“Snow?”

Jon takes a large sip from his cup.

“Hm?”

“Now that it’s you, and only you - do you think you could still fuck me every once in a while? I mean, I get it, you want my cock and who can blame you-”

Jon snorts into his cup at that. Greedy Greyjoy. He won’t make it that easy for him, that would be boring. So he raises his eyebrows.

“Maybe. If you beg very, very sweetly.”

“Cheeky brat.”

“Greedy jerk.”

  
Jon refuses to see anyone for the next couple of days. He just wants to enjoy it, being himself without the king looming somewhere in the background.

He and Theon bicker a lot, it’s nearly like before. Except that now everything is tinted with a lightness that’s still new to Jon. And that every snipe is followed by a kiss, an embrace, a smile.

Only when Lord Stark comes back Jon resumes a more public role. He eats most dinners in the hall, Sansa at his side. She’s true to her word, very ladylike and sweet. Only once Jon catches her roll her eyes when he’s managed to dunk his sleeve into the stew on his plate.

Robb - it’s more difficult. He watches Jon with sad eyes, doesn’t speak to him unless Jon asks him a question. He spars with Jon when he asks him to, but it’s nothing like before. They’ve lost their easy companionship, there’s no laughter - he feels like a stranger rather than his beloved brother.

Lady Stark watches him too. Jon can tell she’s wary of his every move, especially around Sansa. Lord Stark seems to sense something has changed, he looks worried and confused.

The days flow by, each one as uneventful as the last. Jon and Theon wake up, have breakfast, Jon trains his sword fighting while Theon shoots some lazy arrows, always, always on point.

Sometimes Jon takes up archery training too, but he sees no use in getting better anymore. It’s just another exercise to keep him well.

They take soaks in the godswood, they play Cyvasse, they fuck. Jon likes it, the routine, the easiness of it all. But he still feels restless, like there’s something he should be doing but keeps forgetting.

The preparations for Litha - midsummer - have started and Jon is partially excited, partially dreading the feast and the night of celebrating.

He has to wear that ivy wreath again, and the Summer King’s cloak. He also has to crown a Midsummer Queen, just for one day. Usually the Summer King picks his favourite girl, crowns her with flowers and his cloak and sooner or later they vanish to… well.

Jon shudders. Of course he’ll crown Sansa. Just for the people’s sake. He can’t possibly choose Theon, that’d cause a riot. It’s always a girl, not even Bolton chose his bastard brother.

And yet Jon wants it so bad, wants to have Theon up there with him for all to see. It’s unfair, like so much connected to their traditions. Sure, it’s logical in a way. The country needs both male and female vigors to retain its fertility.

At least he doesn’t actually have to do... that. He’s asked the maester about it, and his answer had been a relief.

“For this,” he’d said, “we have the stag king and the maiden huntress at Beltane. They ensure the fertility of the planted crop.”

Jon thinks about his role in the wheel of the year. The Summer King’s ashes are spread over the harvested fields to ensure the ground regaining its fertility for the next year.

  
Jon watches two men set up his uncomfortable wicker throne on the meadow outside the castle walls. He hopes they’ll put furs on it again. The Midsummer Queen’s chair is crafted from birch. It’s the same one every year.

How many of the girls sitting there were in love with their king? How many were just greedy for the attention?  
  
Jon is cut short in his musings when some other men stroll past him to erect the seven fires that’ll burn the whole night.

Couples will jump over all of them hand in hand. It’s said to strengthen their bond.   
Jon sighs. He’s never had anyone to do this with, and now that he has it’s impossible.

A memory surfaces, of last year’s midsummer. Of Theon, massively drunk, throwing a tantrum about something. Jon remembers Robb holding Theon back from - from what? Jon had only rolled his eyes then, but now he’s curious.

Jon looks around. There he is, helping carrying benches and tables around. Not entirely voluntary, judging from his face. Jon grins and when Theon looks up he waves him over.

Theon says something to the other man he helped with a bench, then comes over. He’s shaking his hand with a plaintive expression.

“Good timing, Snow. I think I have a splinter in my poor finger.”

He holds his hand out, snivelling a little. Jon leans forward, examining it. He can see nothing but he sports the most sympathetic look he can muster.

“Oh no, poor darling,” he remarks dryly. “I would kiss it better, but I fear that’s not in the Summer King’s power. Shall I send for the maester? We might have to chop off your hand though.”

Theon smacks him on the chest.

“Don’t make fun of me, you nasty bastard.” He slings his arm around Jon’s shoulders and draws him closer. “Did you want something?”

“Yes, actually I do,” Jon mumbles. “Do you remember last year’s midsummer?”

“Vaguely.”

“You were drunk. And Robb held you back from doing something. What was that about?”

When he doesn’t get an answer Jon looks up and has to suppress a laugh. Theon is bright red. Finally he opens his mouth.

“As you said, I was murderously drunk. And - well. Angry.”

“About what?”

Theon sighs.

“I was fucking that girl from Winter Town at that time. Jess or Bess or something like that. And she had been needling me the whole day about those fires and jumping over them with her and that was pretty much the last thing I wanted to do. I might as well have asked her father for his blessing!”

Jon stays quiet. He never thought he would ever be jealous of Theon’s impressive list of conquests, but here he is. Theon continues.

“So I told her to fuck off and then got drunk. And drunk me thought it would be a good idea to just ask Lord Stark for his bastard son. And Robb held me back before I could get my head chopped off for drunk impertinence.”

Theon looks down at Jon.

“What are you smirking at?”

“Nothing,” Jon says. “You really wanted to ask Father for my hand? You know that’s not possible, you oaf.”

Theon rolls his eyes.

“Drunken logic, Snow. Can we get out of here please? I’m getting hungry and horny.”

Now it’s Jon’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Dangerous combination. Come on then.”

That night, on the verge of falling asleep, Jon still can’t stop thinking about all the wenches Theon has had. It’s bothering him more than it should. Theon’s hands are stroking Jon’s hair and all of a sudden he asks,

“If it was possible - if I’d ask your father and he’d say yes - would you come with me? When it’s time for me to return to Pyke?”

Pyke. Jon doesn’t know a lot about it, but what he knows is not very enticing. A cold, damp castle, howling winds, crashing waves, screeching birds… No trees, no animals, no nothing.

Jon turns around to look into Theon’s eyes.

“Yes, I would.”


	17. Chapter 17

On midsummer morning Jon sleeps in until the early afternoon. He has to stay awake until the next sunrise, and he can’t very well snore on his wicker throne.

He blinks, slowly surfacing from a particularly disturbing dream about Balerion the Black Dread. The dragon was just about to roast him when a noise pulled him into consciousness.

The noise is Theon, arguing with someone who’s standing outside of their door.

“I said no! He’s going to be there when he’s there but I won’t - no!”

He slams the door shut, grumbling to himself. “Selfish jerks, really.”

Then he spies Jon squinting at him from the bed.

“Hey there. Did I wake you? I’m sorry - but that was some idiot who wanted you to go down now.”

“What for?” Jon yawns. “I’m not required til the sun starts to go down.”

“I know,” Theon growls, “that’s what I told him. Apparently they want you to sit there all day like a fucking bronze figure.”

Jon stretches which prompts Theon to crawl back into bed and start kissing down his chest. Jon sighs contentedly and threads his hands in Theon’s hair.

“What will you do all night? Go and find a girl for some midsummer fun?”

Theon pauses on his way to Jon’s stomach. 

“Haha. As if there was one who could satisfy me. You spoiled me for all the sweet wenches of the entire world.”

He laves his tongue over Jon’s lower stomach, eliciting a moan from him.

“I guess I’ll be hanging around, watching you up there with your queen by your side and be murderously jealous. Maybe I can see if Robb is up for drinking ourselves into a nice, comfortable stupor.”

He’s reached Jon’s cock now and for the next ten minutes his mouth is too full to talk much. Being Theon, he barely takes the time to swallow properly before chatting on.

“Mayhaps I can talk to him about how he’s behaving towards you since his… trifle… with the king. Though I probably shouldn’t whinge about being jealous that I’m not up there with you. That’d be cruel, putting the finger in the wound.”

Jon tries to stop the flood by kissing Theon. He gets a reluctant ten-second-kiss before Theon goes on.

“Of course at first it was just this sudden lust for you, or the king, or you both. But if I have to guess that has changed since he’s had a little taste. And who can blame him, it’s really, really good and I’ll have you reminded that there’s still that promise you have to fulfill.”

Jon is nearly choking with laughter by now. 

“You haven’t begged sweetly enough yet. Seriously, Greyjoy - don’t you need to breathe once in a while? That was impressive. Giving me ideas.”

Theon looks at him in mock-appal.

“I just did that! Begging you said, hm?”

He sits up on his knees and arranges his face into a pitiful, pleading expression.

“My one and only love, my sweet master, I beg you to fuck me into oblivion, or I’ll pine away in agony! Please, lovely Jon, let me feel that wonderful cock of yours again!”

“Not bad at all. If I survive the night without dying of boredom or Sansa strangling me because I’ve done something wrong - Theon?”

Theon’s grin has faded at Jon’s words and he turns away. Jon wraps his arms around him. 

“What’s the matter?”

Theon’s voice is sad, but his hands settle over Jon’s.

“I would love to be there with you. I wish I was the one at your side. I wish I could be the one wearing your cloak.”

For a moment Jon says nothing, only presses his cheek against Theon’s back. Then he laughs softly.

“You are a secret romantic, Theon Greyjoy. Hey,” he kisses Theon’s nape. “You know - okay that’ll sound awfully sappy now - you could wear it afterwards? If you want?”

Theon sniffles.

“While you fuck me?”

The smile is back in his voice and Jon lightly bites down on the soft skin.

“Alright. While I fuck you into oblivion with my wonderful cock.”

 

Jon represses a yawn. They’ve been here for hours now, he’s managed to go through the ceremonies without screwing it and it’s nearly time for Sansa to go to bed. 

It’s been a while since he’s seen either Theon or Robb, which probably means they’re already drunk out of their minds. 

When the septa comes to take Sansa away, he kisses her hand, whispering in her ear.

“Would you terribly mind to have that cloak brought to my chambers?”

For a moment she looks surprised then she smiles.

“Of course, my king!” Sansa leans in. “But tell him not to ruin it, I’m supposed to wear it on Lughnasadh.”

Jon stares after her speechless. Is there anything she doesn’t pick up on? He lets his gaze wander. There are people everywhere, mostly drunk and in pairs. 

But the crowd has already thinned and nobody’s paying him any special attention, so Jon decides to go looking for Theon and Robb. 

Automatically he goes for the stables first, once a surefire way to find Theon on a night like this. And of course, he’s there, sleeping under a horse blanket in the straw. 

To Jon’s surprise, Robb is sitting next to him, a wineskin loosely in his hands. At Jon’s appearance he looks up. His eyes are bloodshot and he seems out of it. Robb smiles.

“Ah, the king descends upon us smallfolk. Did you get bored with looking somber up there?”

Jon flinches. Robb’s voice sounds bitter and nasty.

“I came to look for you two. Did you have a nice celebration?”

“Yes, very nice,” Robb snorts. “I had to coddle your lady love here because the fires gave him a panic attack. ‘Boohoo, my lovey dovey baby boy is going to burn’, something like that.”

Jon stares at Robb, disbelieving of what he hears. Robb sounds cruel, not like himself at all. For a moment Jon hesitates, then sits down on Theon’s other side and strokes his hair back.

Even in sleep now his face is contorted and there are dried tears on his cheeks. Jon looks up at Robb and finds him watching, an expression of longing on his face.

“I wish I was there before him. I wish you would touch me like that. Look at me like that just once. Am I not going to lose my brother? The one person I love most of all?”

“But Robb…” Jon sighs. “This is a different kind of love, don’t you understand? I love you, my brother, more than anything. But when I look at him now… I can’t explain it. It’s different.”

Robb silently takes a swig from his wineskin. Then he looks up. 

“I never knew how much I felt for you until the king had me in his power. Until he gave me that one night - I had no idea, Jon. I always listened to Theon prattle on and on about you and always felt strange, but I thought that’s because I’m your brother. Now it seems I was jealous.”

He drops the wineskin and gets on his knees, proceeds to crawl over. Jon stiffens when Robb reaches him, but he only lies down with his head in Jon’s lap, looking up at him. 

“Hold me, Jon. Stroke my hair and tell me it’s going to be fine. I know it can’t be, but please - tell me nothing bad will happen.”

Jon doesn’t answer, but after a moment of hesitation he slowly threads his fingers into Robb’s curls. Robb’s eyes fall shut and he sighs.

“We’re going to be alright, Robb.” A downright lie. “You are. The whole future is yours, you are going to be alright.”

Jon continues talking such nonsensical things until Robb is asleep. To Jon’s side Theon stirs, his hand reaching out. Jon takes it. 

“Sshh, sleep. Everything’s alright, I’m here. Sleep.”

Jon sits there until dawn, doing his best not to disturb their sleeping, his hands touching them all the time, keeping them calm. His feet go numb, his back is killing him. His heart feels like stone in his chest.

_And what of me? Who comforts me?_

 

Theon wakes up first. For a moment he blinks at Robb - still curled against Jon - in confusion. Then he sits up, draws Jon to him and kisses him, a possessive urgency in his mouth. Jon smiles.

“He felt bad, and alone. You must’ve been in a bad mood yesterday.”

Theon smooths his hair down but gives up soon.

“I guess I was. Shouldn’t have burdened him with it. Or you.”

“It’s fine,” Jon murmurs. He’s made a decision while watching their sleep, their sorrow. What he can give - he will. Make it easier for them. 

“He just wanted to… I don’t know. Be part of it? This…” he gestures at the two of them. “Us, maybe.”

Theon looks as if deep in thought. His eyes search Jon’s gaze and hold it. There’s acceptance there, permission and a hint of resignation. 

“I’ll leave you two alone.”  
He makes to get up, but Jon takes hold of his shoulder. 

“Stay. Please.”

Theon sinks back. He looks disbelieving.

“He won’t-”

“Stay,” Robb’s drowsy voice interrupts Theon. “Whatever - I’m not, I mean, Jon’s not…” He stops, huffing a frustrated sigh. “This is strange.”

To Jon’s surprise Theon leans over him, softly takes Robb’s face in his hands. After a moment of startled silence Robb nods, and Theon closes the distance between them. Their kiss is careful, searching, unsure of what is permitted. 

Theon pulls back and smirks, looking so much like his usual, cocky self Jon laughs shakily.

“Thought so, Stark,” Theon teases.

Robb’s smile is relieved and sheepish at the same time. When he looks at Jon pleadingly, Jon doesn’t let himself think about it, he just smiles.

This kiss is longer, harder. Robb makes a small noise deep in his throat and it’s all that’s needed for Jon’s doubts to fly away. Robb wants this so much…

For a while they exchange kisses, neither daring to move past that. It’s Theon’s hands that start roaming first, stroking red and black curls, caressing their faces, ridding them of their shirts.

Before long they are entangled in the straw, all three of them, and Jon closes his eyes, unable to discern whose touches he feels all over his body. Two voices that sigh his name, and sometimes each other’s. 

It’s strange, but good, different, but not in a bad way. Jon is not sure who brings him over the edge, or whom he causes to fall - it doesn’t matter in these moments, the three of them so close, nearly one.

In the end he’s cradled in Theon’s arms, Robb’s around the both of them. No one wants, dares to move for a long time. This feels too fragile for words, or anything else. Jon wonders how long it can last.

For now it’s over. They don’t speak when they pull their clothes back on, but when their ways part in the courtyard, Robb hesitates, looks at Theon questioningly. Theon smiles, a little tightly but undeniably gentle.

“See you tomorrow, Robb,” he says softly. “Tomorrow.”

Not today. Robb understands, he nods and leaves them alone. Theon turns to Jon. 

“I feel like a long, lazy day in bed. What do you say?”

Jon remembers something and grins.

“Bed yes, lazy… I believe there’s a cloak waiting for you.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're basically at the end here. 
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTES AT THE END

Those long, lazy summer days rush past with hasty strides, leaving nothing behind than a taste of wine and fruit and golden days, of kisses and nightlong talks, of Theon laughing and Jon smiling at the sound.

Before he knows it, Jon is getting ready for Lughnasadh and the first thanksgiving. The harvest has begun and the days are numbered.

Fifty-two. 

Fifty-two sunrises. 

Fifty-one sunsets.

Jon can’t help himself. When he places the crown - wheat this time - on his queen’s head he feels like screaming. Fires are burning again and this time it’s him on the edge of a panic attack.

Sansa senses his unease, her small hand creeps into his. The contact calms Jon considerably and he shoots his sister a grateful glance. She looks so mature now, sitting beside him, shoulders straight, regal somehow.

Sansa doesn’t let go until it’s time for her to retire. Before she leaves, she gives his hand a squeeze. 

“On Mabon I won’t be up here with you. Mother said I mustn’t be here at all. But I want you to know that I will, with all my thoughts and prayers. I love you, Jon.”

She kisses his cheek gently, as if she’s the older sibling for once. When she’s gone, Jon touches his face. It’s wet, but is impossible to say if it’s his tears or hers.

They wait for him in the stables and Jon joins them with a heavy heart. Tonight is going to be the last time. Seven weeks. 

Maybe he should postpone it, have a little more time - no, he thinks when he lets himself be pulled down by two pairs of arms. He shouldn’t drag it out. 

At least, Jon thinks with some kind of hope, they now have each other. 

“What do you mean, I should leave?”

Theon’s voice borders on the edge of hysteria. He’s shaking, barely controlling the rage he must feel. Jon hurts, hurts so much - but it is the right thing to do.

“I’m saying that I want you to leave. Pack your belongings and return to your old room. You’re not staying.” The hardest part, the biggest lie. “I don’t want you anymore.”

When Theon doesn’t move, Jon has the squires take Theon’s stuff to his old room. He basically has to close the door in Theon’s face, but finally it’s done. He’s alone.

Jon doesn’t sleep. Over and over the scene unfolds before his eyes. The shock, the hurt, the disbelief. The utter, utter horror on Theon’s face. 

Jon stays in his chamber for days, and days turn into weeks. Weeks without receiving anyone. Weeks without going out a single time. Weeks of not eating much, and sleeping less.

It’s one of the squires that finally gets through the haze.

“Beg your pardon, my king. But - could you please tell us what to do with Lord Greyjoy?”

Jon stiffens at the name. 

“What’s with him?”

His voice sounds hoarse from not using it for a long time. The boys look at each other.

“He still won’t leave. He’s gone during most of the day, but every night he comes back and sleeps here, in front of your door. He looks awful, m’lord, but he refuses to take a blanket.”

“Half of the time,” the other boy pipes up, “ we’re not sure if he’s asleep or unconscious again.”

Again?? Jon’s head feels like it could burst any second. 

“How long?” he rasps.

Another uncomfortable look is exchanged between the two.

“Since you’ve sent him away, my king. He’s out during the day, shooting arrows around all the time. My king, your brother says he doesn’t eat.”

Of course he doesn’t eat, Jon thinks bitterly. That even got to the king’s soft side, all those months ago. And it’s working again, worry coils in Jon’s stomach. 

Again he has to put someone else first. Before himself, his own wants. And what he wants, he tells himself as he walks out to search for him, is to be alone until it’s time.

The lies he tells himself dissolve the second he sees him. Eyes burning in a gaunt face, his lips pressed together tightly, all smiles extinguished. Arrow after arrow finds the target, every single one spot on. 

For a moment Jon just watches, the restless energy that seems to be consuming Theon, the determination on his face. Saying his name is not a conscious decision, it’s like drawing a long needed breath.

“Theon.”

The arrow clatters to the ground, the bow follows suit. For a moment it seems like Theon will fall too, then he steadies himself. 

“What are you doing?” Jon asks softly, meaning all of Theon’s behavior. Theon understands.

“Not giving up.”

Jon sees him sway on his feet. Defeated, he smiles.

“Let’s get back. I’m hungry.”

They don’t talk, they don’t touch. When they approach Jon’s chambers, his squires bow and vanish along the hallway. They somehow look… guilty?

As soon as they enter the chamber, Jon knows why. Theon’s things are back and Jon turns to him in accusation.

“You planned this. You and the boys.”

Theon grins.

“I think I told you. I’m going to be with you. All the way, Snow. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily. I’m staying. Besides, that was Alfie’s idea when I refused to leave your door. He came up with it yesterday. Clever boy.”

Jon shakes his head.

“Why, Theon? Why are you so determined to hurt yourself?”

“Love hurts,” Theon says, straight-faced. It has Jon smile.

“I missed you, jerk.”

“Same, bastard. Now shut up and come here.”

Later - after a lot of catching up on food and sex - Jon can’t help but ask.

“I guess you’ve seen Robb these days. How is he?”

Theon turns onto his back and blinks tiredly. 

“He looked as lost as I felt. Maybe you should go talk to him.”

Jon curls around Theon tightly, reaching out for him again.

“Tomorrow.”

He does go to talk to Robb the next day, and Jon is enveloped in a rib-crushing hug before he can say as much as hello. Robb kisses him, but when Jon invites him to his chamber he gets a surprise.

“No. This is your time. Yours and Theon’s. I shouldn’t - I don’t want to intrude.”

“You aren’t,” Jon says, smiling. “But thank you.”

When he turns to go, Robb calls him back.

“Jon? You know I love you, right?”

Jon turns back, hugs him tightly, closes his eyes in a desperate attempt to keep some of that warmth.

“I know. And for now I’m still here.”

Back and firmly wedged in Theon’s arms Jon contemplates his futile attempt at pushing people away. Who’d have thought they’re so stubborn…

But it’s a warm feeling. To know he’s loved. Wanted, so much that they just won’t stop pestering him. He has another thought for himself before all this had happened.

Always isolating himself, feeling sorry for himself - in this regard being chosen has proved a blessing. If it wasn’t for how it’s going to end. Four weeks.

 

Four weeks are nothing. A blink, a breath, a whispered name and the time is up. Tomorrow it’s done. Tomorrow his path will end. Tomorrow it’s Mabon.

“Run away with me,” Theon begs, not for the first time. Jon’s answer is always the same. 

“I can’t. They need the sacrifice. Do you want them to starve? Do you want the fields to be infertile? I can’t do this to the people of Winterfell.”

And Theon always turns his face away, but not today. Today he’s staring at Jon like he’s trying to burn his picture into his brain. Not that it would be necessary, Jon thinks. He’s looked at him so often now… But maybe it is necessary, given of what they’re about to do.

“It’s time, Theon. Let’s get it over with.”

Theon takes the knife and swallows. Jon smiles encouragingly. 

“I know this hurts you. Believe me, I feel like I’ll start to cry any second now. But it’s better that way.”

Theon can’t hold back a strangled noise as he starts cutting Jon’s hair. Strand after strand sails to the floor, lock after lock. Jon’s back is rigid, his hands balled into fists. When it’s done he turns around. Tears have dried on Theon’s cheeks but now he’s smiling at Jon.

“How does it look?” Jon asks, choked.

“Unbearably cute,” Theon whispers before drawing him into his arms. 

Jon lets himself relax for a moment, before breaking away with a sigh. He calls for his squire and tells him to get the hair away. He hopes the boy remembers what to do with it. 

The rest of the day goes by with his family coming to say goodbye. Tomorrow he won’t be Jon anymore. 

Sansa is crying. In her hands she holds a snow-white tunic, longer than usual. She’s made it herself, she tells him through sobs, for him to wear it when he fulfils the sacrifice

Ned doesn’t speak, he holds Jon in a tight embrace before leaving. 

Lady Catelyn surprises him. She presses a little flask in his hand. 

“Drink this before they bind you. It’ll help.”

She kisses his forehead before leaving.

Robb is last, long after the others, after the maester, Ser Rodrik, Jory, all of them. Robb takes his time. His last embrace is scorching, his last kiss like drowning. He doesn’t say a word. 

Finally they’re alone, Jon and Theon. They don’t sleep that night. They don’t talk much. Mostly they hold each other through the night and into the next day, until sunset. That’s when Jon stirs, when he whispers to Theon,

“Fuck me. Fuck me one more time. Fuck me so hard I feel you in me all the way.”

Theon does. It’s angry, hard, and so, so good. When a knock on the door sounds, Jon isn’t surprised. He’s waited for this. Instead of having Theon open the door he goes himself. The man in front of it bows and gives him a small package. Jon opens it and looks at the thing inside. Perfect. 

He goes back to the bed, back to Theon who watches him with a hard gaze. Jon lays the little package before him. 

“This is for you. Theon - can you do me one last favour?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t come. Don’t watch. I don’t want you to see.”

“Jon…” Theon’s voice is heavy with pain.

“You said anything,” Jon smiles. 

Outside the drums are starting to roll. Jon bends down, kisses Theon one last time. When the men come to get him he greets them upright and calm.

“I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thanks to everyone who read this! Special thanks to @callmejude for all her help - it was amazing of you!
> 
> Now I had a lot of different endings in mind for this and I've decided to actually write 4 of them. 
> 
> For those who wish for a happy end, I recommend reading end nr. 2 or end nr. 4
> 
> End nr. 1 is my personal favourite, containing one major character death (guess who)
> 
> End nr. 3 contains TWO major character deaths, so read at your own risk if you want :)
> 
> I'll name the last 4 chapters like this so there's no confusion.
> 
> THANK YOU!!!


	19. Alternative Ending Nr. 1 (major character death)

The room is cold. There’s a big fire but no fire in the world could warm me these days. Without him everything seems bleak and senseless.  

Every breath hurts, every blink of my eyes, every thought of him like a dagger in my chest. I wouldn’t want it any other way. The pain says, you loved. You were loved. 

I’m waiting for them to get me, for my trial. Lord Stark will have no choice but to execute me. What I did was treason. 

But I can’t regret it for a second, what I did. I would do it again, a hundred times over, even when it seals my own fate. 

I regret nothing. No one can take the memories away that are mine, that I will take with me.

His face when my arrow hit his heart is something I will never forget. Love, gratefulness and for a split second a tender scolding.

I can hear him in my head. I thought I told you not to come. I smile and shrug, answering with, when did I ever listen to you, Snow? He laughs about that.

Robb has visited me every day since then. There’s a knock on my door. Is it time? I’ll welcome Ice gladly. The world has lost its colours anyway.

It’s not the guards, it’s Robb. Quick, he says, follow me. He leads me to the stables. There’s no one around at this hour. 

A horse is saddled and ready and I stare at it, at Robb. He smiles and hands me a bag. From father, he says, food and water and some gold for a passage. 

His smile fades and he hugs me. Thank you, he whispers, for everything. I climb onto the horse and he reaches up. I recognize the thing immediately.

It’s the package Jon gave me. I didn’t have time to open it before they arrested me and took it away with my other things.

With one last look at Robb I leave Winterfell. A part of me wants to stay, stay where his ashes are scattered over the lands. Staying means death. I choose life.

I open the package on my first stop. It’s a ring, gold, with a strange black pattern woven in a setting. It looks like wicker work. I touch it with the tip of my finger and suddenly I know what it is.

His hair, his beautiful black hair, bordered with gold. I smile while I slip it onto my finger. 

“Let’s go, love,” I whisper.


	20. Alternative Ending Nr. 2 (Happy End)

It’s not the men coming for him. It’s father, with the maester behind him.

“Quick, get dressed for riding. Theon, you too.”

Jon feels nothing but confusion but does as he’s told. Theon follows suit and in no time they’re ready. Jon looks into father’s face. It’s contorted in pain, but his eyes are warm.

“Go to the stables. Jory is waiting with horses. Ride south as far as south goes. Dorne,” father says, “Ride for Dorne.”

“Father…”

“Do as I say, Jon. Don’t come back, don’t write. Jon Snow will die tonight.”

Theon has joined them, taking Jon’s hand.

“Thank you, my lord.” He tugs at Jon’ hand. “Let’s go, love.”

***

Dorne is beautiful, hot and dry. The sea, the sand, the ever shining sun. Jon keeps his hair short these days. Theon still bitches about it from time to time but he knows it’s better that way.

Jon looks at him. He’s taken to the hot climate quicker than Jon, despite going on and on about how he’s supposed to live in rough winds and rainstorms.

Jon smiles. Theon would never confess how happy he is to be near the sea again. He’s tanned, both have in the months they’ve been here.

Theon says he feels like a lump of coal, but Jon has caught him in front of the mirror, marveling at his skin from all angles.

There has been one letter from Winterfell, about a month after they’d left. The maester had written to them as his nephews, telling them how successful the sacrifice had been, despite the Summer King being drugged. A concession to Lord Stark being his father. The people understood.

Jon still has no idea how they managed to fool the people. Maybe got them drunk, Theon suggested. Jon is still wondering.

It’s not until another half year that he gets his answer. Prince Doran, their exceptionally gracious host, tells them he’s expecting guests, a young lord and his wife.

Jon can’t believe it when he sees Robb running towards him, catching him in a tight embrace. For a long while nobody says anything.

Later, in the privacy of Jon and Theon’s chamber, Robb tells them. Apparently Lord Stark had heard of a sick young man in Mole’s Town. He visited him and agreed to support the man’s family after his death in exchange for…

Jon shudders. The only consolation is that the man had died before replacing him on the pyre. Robb says he’s sure enough people noticed. But no one said a word and now in spring the fields are in full growth. It worked.

When Robb has left to go back to his wife, a Frey girl Jon doesn’t know, Theon looks at him with a hint of accusation.

“I told you, you Northerners are a superstitious lot. You could probably burn a log and it would have the very same effect. Savages.”

Jon only rolls his eyes and shuts him up with the only method working.

Besides, he’s probably right.


	21. Alternative Ending Nr. 3 (TWO - 2!!! - major character deaths)

Robb watches Lady Greyjoy pace around in father’s solar. She’s furious, beside herself.

“Would you care to explain why all that’s left of my brother for me to take home is _a handful of ashes??_ ”

Robb still hasn’t gotten over the shock. They’d been standing at the foot of the pyre, father, mother and him. Jon had been composed, only when they tried to bind him sitting down he’d fought back.

“I will die standing upright!”

They let him. Jon’s eyes had been searching the crowd when the pyre was lit. Robb knew who he was looking for. When Jon couldn’t find him he’d smiled in relief.

Until suddenly his eyes widened, his mouth opened, the words stuck in his throat. Behind Robb the crowd has parted to let a man through. Theon.

Robb caught his sleeve, panic surging through his chest.

“What are you doing?”

Softly Theon had disentangled Robb’s fingers from his tunic. His eyes had been glazed over, he’d been smiling.

“I’m keeping my promise, Stark. All the way.”

When Robb realised what Theon was about to do it had been too late.

He’ll never forget Jon’s anguished cry when Theon’s arms wound around his waist, his hair already singed.

Father had been frozen in shock and Robb had turned to the maester, screaming at him.

“Do something!”

The maester had shaken his head.

“I did what I could. They feel no pain.”

Robb had broken down then, unable to watch. There had been no cries, no screaming, just the crackling of the flames. The smell… Robb hasn’t been able to eat meat since Mabon.

“My lady,” he says now, taking a step towards Asha Greyjoy. She glares at him. She doesn’t cry. She’s stronger than him.

“Because he loved. Because he was loved.”

Her face softens.


	22. Alternative Ending Nr. 4 (Happy End)

Ned reaches out. His fingers touch cold stone.

“I’m sorry, Lyanna,” he says to her statue. “I’m sorry I cannot save him from this.”

When it is time to light the pyre he cannot do it himself. He knows he should, but his hand won’t close around the torch, it’s stiff, trembling. The maester has to do it for him.

Jon is standing very still, eyes looking at something that’s not there. Ned looks around. Theon is not here, a wise decision. Despite the potion Cat has given Jon, if Theon were here Jon wouldn’t keep so calm and focused.

The fire burns high and higher until Jon is consumed by it, hidden from sight. Robb on his side is helplessly crying, his whole body shaking. I should’ve sent him away too, Ned thinks. But Robb is his heir, he’ll have to watch many people burn. But nothing, Ned knows, will ever hurt him like this, today.

He’s still looking at Robb when a murmur goes through the crowd, someone screams. Ned looks up.

The fire has started to go down.

Jon is staring down at him in shock. His short hair is burnt away, his clothes dissolved in smoke as well. Jon is still there.

“The blood of the dragon,” Ned hears himself say. He can feel Cat’s gaze on him, can nearly taste her bewilderment.

Slowly the people around them start to fall to their knees. There’s hushed murmur. Ned feels his knees giving in too, he drags Cat and Robb down with him.

Jon is still there.

“Father?”

His voice sounds small, like when he was a child.

Suddenly the maester’s shout rings out above the crowd.

“The gods have sent us a sign. The Summer King lives.”

Jon’s eyes are still boring into Ned’s. He has a lot of explaining to do.

***

Theon sits in Jon’s chamber, waiting for the cheers that tell him it is over, done. He longs to be there, be an anchor Jon can hold on to. At least he’s not in pain, that’s the smallest consolation, but a consolation nonetheless.

When he hears the maester’s cry he shakes his head. These are not the traditional words. The traditional words would be, the king has died for us to live. Not that the _king_ lives.  

He waits for an eternity but the right words never come, the cheers never sound.

“Theon.”

Theon’s eyes fall shut. It can’t be true. His mind is playing tricks on him. A burnt smell is filling the room, burnt hair, burnt fabric. Has he come to haunt him?

A hand on his shoulder has him jump. It feels so real…

“Theon.”

Again, the voice, so real. Theon turns around.

Jon is smiling at him. His skin is covered in soot, the short hair is gone but he’s smiling, smiling like he’s never smiled before. Theon gasps, his hands flying to Jon’s face.

He touches him, real, really there, in his arms now, real, his lips against Theon’s, real!

“How… how?”

Theon doesn’t recognize his own voice. Jon laughs.

“Father said, he’ll explain but all I wanted was to get to you first. Something about the blood of the dragon.”

 

The Summer King lives.

We live, Theon thinks, claiming Jon’s mouth once more, smoke, ashes and fire, we’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I have to say this:
> 
> I KNOW Targs are not supposed to be fireproof and that this was just Dickhead&Dickhead trying to be cool (tbh it was cool) but here the Targaryens ARE fireproof, because I said so^^


End file.
